


Indebted

by QueenMaria



Series: Grey-Dawn [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A Cornered Rat, Diplomatic Immunity Quest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Physical Abuse, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-16 19:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10577973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenMaria/pseuds/QueenMaria
Summary: He hadn't prayed to the Nine in a very long time. But when all else failed, it seemed that they smiled upon him in the end. His life before the moment of their meeting ceased to matter. All that mattered now was his debt. And the Dragonborn.





	1. Shackled Hell

**Author's Note:**

> "There are no coincidences in life. What person that wandered in and out of your life was there for some purpose, even if they caused you harm." - Shannon L. Alder

It seemed impossible that the knife could still hurt at this point. Shouldn't he have developed an immunity to the pain by now?

Why did every slash have to feel like the first time he'd ever been cut?

"Must we remind you of the rules?"

No, no, he knew the rules.

"You only speak to answer the question…"

He'd just given them the answer.

"…your continuous refusal to cooperate…"

_I can't tell you what I don't know!_

"…next time…"

_Please…please…_

"…do better."

* * *

 

He'd always felt safe in the Flagon.

The feeling was ridiculous, he knew. But the Flagon and the dank, dripping tunnels of the Ratway had never failed to fill him with a sense of, if not comfort, then at least security.

Maybe it had been because the darkness had always drawn him in. Maybe it was because you could always here someone coming from the wet splash they made on the ground.

Well, almost always.

For all his skills and experience, he'd never seen the bastards coming. How three Altmer, two in gleaming golden armor, had snuck into the Ratway unnoticed by anyone was beyond him. How they came into Riften without word spreading like wildfire was a mystery to him. It hadn't made sense at the time, but he'd been only just arrived back in the capital from a job, and so at first chalked it up to bad communication.

No, it wasn't until he'd been hanging by his wrists for what he assumed to be days that he began to figure it out.

* * *

 

How did he still have enough blood to keep his body going?

Oh yes, that's right. They had an infinite supply of weak healing potions and salty, mushy bread to keep him alive. Alive but beaten, broken, and exhausted.

He liked it when they let him sleep. He dreamed about the Flagon. He dreamed about the beautiful lake and mountains near Riften. Winter had just made an appearance in southern Skyrim, leaving the lake town under a harmless layer of white.

Though sometimes, after a particularly awful session, he would dream about the dragons.

It had been shortly before he was taken that the dragons had returned. He'd heard the old men on the mountain call down for some Dragonborn or other Nordic nonsense.

But whether or not the Dragonborn was everything people said, the dragons' existence couldn't be denied.

Had it been two, or three days before they took him that he saw one? He couldn't remember. Maybe it had been longer. His sense of time was sorely lacking at this point.

But he could remember the creature's black outline against the bright blue sky, and he could remember the shriek it gave that reached all the way to Riften. Luckily for them all the beast had stayed away.

Though sometimes in his dreams a strange silent dragon would swoop down upon him and watch him as he lay helpless. The long body stretched over him, its wings covering him like a shield. It never cried out and it never blinked its vibrant, glowing violet eyes.

He was surrounded by other glowing figures, each hazy and blurred. The dragon was the only thing that stayed in focus, the only thing that approached.

The other presences began to shine more brightly, leaving everything but the ancient creature a white, colorless void, and then the dragon would react.

And always, he would reach out as it opened its maw, wide and terrible, to engulf him in darkness…


	2. Desperate Prayers

_Divines…the Eight…_

"Stop. _Please._ I don't know anything else. Don't you think I'd have told you already?"

He was rewarded with a quick punch to the face for his plea.

_The Nine…_

"Silence. You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions."

The aforementioned Master sat where he always did. His quill twirled in his fingers as he wrote.

"Let's begin again."

He let out a strangled gasp as his jaw pulsed painfully.

_Whichever you really are…_

"No… for pity's sake," he moaned.

"You know the rules."

"I've already told you everything," he pleaded as the armored elf approached him again. " _No!_ "

_I know I haven't kept you as I should have…but please…_

His screams mattered little as the elf smashed his head back against the wall.

_Mercy… judgment…anything…_

He slumped forward, stars dancing in front of his eyes. His head ached, and his hands felt numb from the constant suspension. Even if they let him down one day, he doubted he would ever be able to pick a lock again. Surely the cuffs had done permanent damage.

"Start at the beginning, as usual."

He inhaled a shaky breath, trying to collect his thoughts. His jaw was so sore he doubted they would be able to understand him.

He heard the interrogator sigh.

"If you persist in this stubbornness," he began.

"No! Wait! I was just," he paused to inhale, "catching my breath."

"I'll have to-"

"Why wouldn't I tell you again? I don't even _know_ anything…"

_Anything but this…_

* * *

He hated them all. Every time the armored elf approached him with his little dagger he wanted to spit on him. But he'd already done that once, and having a dagger plunged into your stomach wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. Luckily, or unluckily, he supposed, they were quite adept at healing spells.

Healing spells and potions didn't take away the memory of pain, and he imagined that was the point.

He spoke haltingly, hating his own weakness as tears and sweat traveled down his face.

He'd told them the story _over_ and _over_ again. Why wouldn't they just leave him be? Free him or kill him?

He sobbed as the Altmer came after him with the dagger again, this time carving his left side. Blood wept from the side of his ribs and coated his rags, already heavily saturated from previous sessions.

"That will be all for now. I must say I continue to be disappointed in your lack of cooperation. I hope next time you will do better."

Desperation crawled up his throat and for a moment he felt that he would be sick, but his stomach was too empty for that to happen.

"What else do you want from me?" he wept, trying not to pull on his left side. They hadn't bothered to heal him yet. Maybe this time they'd let him die. "I've already told you everything. Listen," he entreated as the Master began to leave, "if you let me go I can take you to Riften, show you where-"

A choke yell echoed around the chamber as the knife swiped across his left side again, creating a grotesque X with the previous cut.

" _Silence_ , prisoner."

The damned Altmer both left, splashing a healing potion across his side. He grunted at the burning sensation.

_Death, freedom, Oblivion, anything!_

He tried to hold back his tears, born of both pain and misery. They fell uselessly onto the ripped and bloodied trousers his tormentors allowed him. His chest and back were littered with slashes and scars, scabs overlapping and tearing if he moved too much.

He was hoping to have a few moments to sleep before someone came back. An hour's rest would feel like heaven.

As he took a final shuddering breath to get control of himself he heard it; a gentle, light footstep traversing the room. Glancing up slightly, he nearly wept to see a pair of pointed golden boots moving quickly and quietly across the floor. He pretended to be asleep as he heard what sounded like a chest opening, and a ruffle of papers.

Finally, he heard the boots approach him. He held his breath when a hand went for his neck. The bare fingers were warm, and rested at his pulse for a few moments before withdrawing.

_Oh yes, dog, I'm still alive. The Divines won't just take me already._

The figure's armor whined quietly as they crouched in front of him.

"I told you," he sighed, "I don't know anything else about it."

_Maybe they'll finally kill me._

"I'm not here to torture you."

He looked up hesitantly, his eyelids drooping and head rushing slightly from the effort.

"What?"

Focusing on their face, he gaped stupidly for a moment, his mouth open in confusion. The figure, despite wearing a full ensemble of elven armor, was most definitely not a mer. Her pale face was framed by the elven helmet, but dark hair flowed out the back. Her eyes, though he could not make out the color, were distinctly human.

His vision swam and he dropped his head once more.

"Who… what do you want then?"

He was having trouble staying conscious. He needed another healing potion, another spell, some food, something!

"No time to explain," the woman whispered, and he felt vibrations travel through the shackle on his right arm. It gave way with a click, and his arm fell limp at his side. The left soon followed suit, and he pitched forward into the imposter's arms. He stared at the woman in disbelief for a few moments as she leaned him back against the wall, terrified to even hope.

"We have to get out of here," she clarified slowly, as if he were a child. He flinched into the wall when her bare hand touched his chest, so used to pain and knives that everything else seemed foreign. He watched a golden glow appear around her fingers, and when the magic reached out to caress his side he let his eyes fall shut, sinking back against the wooden paneling in relief. The fresh cuts on his side sealed and the scabs lining his body began to shrink and disappear, leaving white scars in their wake.

She tended to him for a few moments longer, and suddenly the tip of a bottle was pressing against his lips. He drank it after a moment's hesitation, recognizing the taste of a healing remedy.

"Your internal injuries should be healed now. Can you walk?"

He opened his eyes again, stretching out a leg to test both it and his arms as he climbed up the wall.

"I-I think so."

He stumbled toward the cage door, nearly collapsing until she caught him around the waist.

"Hold on," she whispered, and she left him sitting against the cage door, darting away from him and back before he could really object. "Here, quickly," she urged, putting a green bottle against his mouth. The potion filled his limbs with energy once again, and he nearly wept with relief as his legs supported his weight.

"Let's get out of here," she mumbled, pushing the door open and leading him toward the stairs.

"No, go that way," he whispered, pointing past his former cell. I've seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies." She looked at him with one eyebrow raised, and he shrugged helplessly. "It must lead somewhere."

"Possibly. Or it's just a pit full of corpses, and we'll be cornered like rats."

She leaned him against a wall for a moment, and he found, to his relief, that he could still steady himself without her assistance.

She replaced her elven gauntlet before carefully drawing her bow.

"You might need to run on your own. How are your legs?"

"They'll do. I'm not staying here another minute."

The woman merely nodded. She turned to face the upper landing, quickly shooing him with her hand.

Disturbed and anxious, he moved toward the small wooden opening, tugging the iron handle.

"Oblivion take us, we need to unlock the door," he hissed, leaning back around the corner.

His eyes became very wide when he saw two Altmer and a wood elf leaning over the railing.

"Listen up, _spy_. You're trapped in here, and _we_ have your accomplice."

Panicking, he ducked back behind the wall, slipping slightly in the mess of blood and bones beneath his feet. He fought down the urge to retch, holding his breath as he considered his options. He felt along his left side, feeling the freshly made scars there.

"Surrender immediately, or you both die!"

"Stay back there," he heard her whisper, and shortly after he heard the distinctive _swish_ of an arrow flying from its string.

A voice cried out, followed by an ominous thud.

" _Malborn, run!"_

He angled his head around the corner, watching as the woman unleashed a bolt of lightning toward the landing.

_Divines help me…_


	3. Hell Hole

Etienne Rarnis watched as the torture master in Thalmor robes stumbled into the wall, struggling to move past the force of the lightning spell. The armored elf launched a frost spell into the room below, and Etienne ducked away into the inlet once more.

There was a series of crashes and shouts as lightening and frost blew past him, ripping and freezing the door to his cage and wooden floorboards.

_I'm going to die here after all,_ he cursed, trying to call on his skills in magic to defend himself. Potions and healing spells aside, he was still horribly weak. The flames that sparked in his hands held steady, but he felt his magicka draining rapidly. Destruction magic had never been his _forte_. He cut the flames, readying his fists for a fight. He wasn't going to Oblivion now, not without a fight, not when he'd started to hope again.

The sounds of battle drew closer, and with a quick glance, he saw the dark haired woman fighting both a Thalmor wizard and soldier. Whipping his head back around the corner, he heard a loud scream of agony, the voice distinctly female.

His fists twitched spastically, eyes clenching shut for a moment in despair. It had been two against one. Surely his rescuer had just met her end.

He heard a voice shout out, and his throat clenched at her words.

"Over there, beyond that wall!"

He backed up against the wall, readying himself for the end.

Moments later, a wood elf flew into view, landing with a thud atop the trapdoor. The mer scrambled to his feet, crying out in disgust when he realized what he was lying in.

"Oh, _gods_. These monsters…"

Looking around, the elf finally noticed him standing there. The Bosmer leapt back with a cry, fumbling for a dagger he'd dropped onto the ground. Flames burst into Etienne's hands, causing the wood elf to leap back in fear before he took a closer look at the apparent mage.

"Wait a second, you're human!"

"That's right, _elf_ , and I'm not going back into that cage without a _fight-"_

"No, no, I'm not one of them!" The elf replied, hurriedly holding up his empty hands. "I just made the stupid mistake of helping _her._ " He jerked his thumb behind him, where a few, lingering movements could be heard.

"Why would you-" he began, but was cut off by another voice.

"Both of you, out of my way!"

Etienne wanted to weep with relief when he saw his savior come around the corner, armor bloodied and scratched, but very much alive.

_Maybe I'm getting out of here after all. Maybe the gods listened._

"Take these," she said, shoving something into his chest. He grunted and looked down, grimacing when he realized what she'd given him were a pair of boots worn by Thalmor wizards and a white tunic. He slid the boots on, ignoring the fact that they were still warm. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

He backed away into the wall again, watching as she knelt in front of the door. A brass key glinted in her hand.

"Gods, you-" _killed them both and looted them for a key_ , he finished mentally, his knees giving out as he crawled to the opening.

The door gave out with a resounding click, springing open when she heaved.

"Malborn, you first. Don't wander far. We don't know what's down there."

The wood elf, Malborn, didn't hesitate to leap into the pit.

The woman looked at him, putting a hand on his arm.

"You next. Put on the shirt once you're down. And don't attack each other."

Etienne nodded slightly as he fell down, landing with an aching thud at the bottom.

The smell was the first thing that hit him. He was surrounded by the overpowering aroma of decaying flesh. He groaned, rising unsteadily to his knees. He slipped the shirt on over his shoulders, grunting as his wounds were pulled.

The metallic sound of boots hitting rock next to him followed by the resounding bang of the trap door alerted him that the woman was in as well.

It was dark, eerily so, and the ground was damp. He could only assume what it was.

Firm hands gripped his waist and shoulder, hauling him to his feet. He landed unsteadily, but didn't fall again.

"Now what?" Malborn whispered from somewhere in front of him.

Etienne squinted into the darkness for a moment before a light appeared at his right. Turning, he saw that the woman had cast a candlelight spell, illuminating them all in a white light.

He made the mistake of looking around for a moment, bile rising in his throat. The ground was littered with bones and corpses. The trapdoor fell upon an incline, causing most of the bodies to roll away, but some hadn't gotten far.

"We move forward and hope this lets out somewhere," the woman said, pushing past them both into the tunnel. He and the wood elf moved more slowly, carefully trying to avoid stepping on the dead. They weren't always successful.

"Divines, I can't- this is-" Etienne stuttered, refusing to lower his gaze to the ground. He hustled after the woman, walking directly behind her where the light wasn't shining so brightly. He couldn't imagine some of the realms in Oblivion being much worse than this.

"It'll be alright," she whispered, though he had noticed that she wouldn't glance down for more than a moment.

Before long, they saw a faint orange glow at the end of the tunnel, illuminating a drop off in the path. This revelation was closely followed by a deep roar which echoed around them.

"Gods, that's a-" Malborn stuttered, leaping against the wall as if he shield himself.

"Troll," the woman finished bitterly, reaching behind her for her elven bow. "Here," she said, and he felt the hilt of a dagger being pressed into his hands. "It won't do you much good against a troll, but it's better than nothing. Malborn, do you still have the dagger you took?"

"Y-yeah, I've got it," Malborn whispered, drawing up an elven dagger. "But, against a troll-"

"Both of you," she whispered so quietly he could barely hear her," are going to stay out of the way until I give the word. If we're stuck with it in the tunnel, I'll try to hold it back with my bow. If it's separated from us somehow, distraction might work. It's in here, and that mean there must be an exit. We have to handle this in the moment. Understand?"

Etienne nodded weakly, brandishing the dagger in front of him. It was elven, like Malborn's, and he assumed she'd lifted it off of one of the bodies as well. He swallowed tightly.

"Alright, follow me. Quietly."

She crept forward slowly, bow in hand and arrow across it, as they came closer to the bellows and the light. After moving at an agonizing pace, they reached the overlook.

Sure enough, a frost troll thundered about the cave, its fists crashing against the rocks in a frenzy. Something long was sticking out of its maw.

"Oh gods…" Malborn moaned. "Woman, are you sure this is-"

"Shh!" she hissed sharply, her elbow bumping the mer's left arm lightly.

Etienne watched as she scanned the cave, barely visible from the light of a torch burning on the ground below. The snow and rocks were painted with something dark and wet.

Bile rose in his throat again, and he wheeled away from the sight, fighting the gorge and failing. He retched a few feet from them, the sound echoing in the cave.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he moaned resting his head against the cool stone wall.

"Shh, calm down. Shh…" Her voice was in his right ear, and her hand found his back. He felt her hand stir with magicka, and his body relaxed. At first he thought she was healing him again, but as his body regained control of itself, he realized she was using illusion magic. A low level calming spell, most likely.

"Is he going to make it?" Malborn inquired, coming to crouch beside them.

"He'll be fine," she muttered, lifting her hand from his spine.

He stood, his mind at ease, and turned to crouch with the woman and elf again.

The troll stomped and waved its arms, spitting out whatever it had been gnawing on previously. It charged the cliff wall, fists hammering at the ice below them.

"There," she whispered, gesturing to the right of the troll. "I can feel the cold air coming from that direction. It's blowing the flames, see?" Both men looked down, watching as the flames on the torch flickered and nearly died.

"He's not going to go down easy. And he's not going to let us pass without a fight," Malborn whispered, flinching back from the beast's loud banging.

Etienne glanced at the woman and saw her smirk, carefully positioning her palm in front of them.

"He might if he's distracted," she muttered, and her palm started to glow.

Alarmed, but not as much as Malborn due to the lingering effects of her spell, Etienne watched as she launched a sphere of light away from them, catching the troll's attention as it flew across the cavern. It landed lightly on a far wall, hovering against it.

The troll bellowed again and ran after it, leaving their immediate drop zone.

"Go, _go!_ "

Neither needed to be told twice. All three landed as quietly as they could, slipping slightly on the icy rocks.

"Go up this path, quick!" she ordered, shoving both of them ahead of her.

Malborn ran ahead, panting slightly.

Etienne followed after him, turning back a moment to see the woman readying her bow.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, never pausing as he ran. "Just run!"

The ice beneath him dipped sharply, a dent in the rock formation creating a puddle which had subsequently frozen.

His right leg flew out from underneath him. He did not realize what was happening until his already battered body slammed into the unyielding ice and stone beneath him. The impact caused him to cry out, and deep, resonating sound that drew that attention of the white beast from the luminescent orb above it.

He lay on the ground in a daze for an agonized second before he realized his body was shifting once again. His torso and head had not struck the hard earth because they had landed over the edge of the path. That edge was terribly slick with ice and snow, and when he tried to brace his right arm against it and rise, what little balance he'd had was lost.

Yelling out once more in terror, he rolled upside down off the ledge. His back and chest scraped the slope as he rolled, the uneven surface digging painfully into his poorly covered torso. Smacking the back of his head on large chunk of ice at the bottom, his body finally stopped.

Stars exploded before his eyes as he shuddered. Dazed and barely conscious, the woman's light cast rainbows around the cavern. He tried to focus on it, on something still, when her spell was blocked by a large, hulking mass quickly charging at him.

He shivered once in the icy puddle as blackness swam across his vision.

_I'm going to die in this hell hole_ , he realized, tears filling his limited vision. _Just another corpse…_

He thought he heard a distant yell, and the terrible creature before him seemed to flinch away, exposing the light once more.

The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in was an enormous wave of fire rushing over him.


	4. Turbulent Sleep

The throbbing ache of rushing blood greeted him.

The waking world steadily became clearer as his mind acknowledged the sounds and smells wafting through the air. It took him many minutes to decipher the sounds around him. His head had an agonizing pulse crashing against his skull and his muscles felt as if they'd been forced to carry an enormous load for days without relief. His side felt particularly abused, and he moaned before he could help himself.

Footsteps approached him. He heard the distinctive sound of metallic heels hitting the ground.

 _Not again_ , he begged, _please, just leave me be_ …

Etienne flinched when a warm hand touched his forehead, fingers brushing back his hair.

His body gave a long shudder when something cold and wet fell across his brow, giving such blessed relief he shakily exhaled an exclamation of gratitude to the gods.

"I'm sure you're welcome," someone said in reply, so quietly he thought he'd imagined it, until they continued in a soft feminine voice. "At least someone's grateful when they're assisted."

Another voice, one distinctly lower, snapped back.

"Oh, because I should be grateful that you ruined what was left of my life, Miss Almighty Dragonborn?"

The feminine voice sighed.

"I have already said that I am sorry for the way things turned out. And please, keep your voice down. I don't want to alarm him."

There was a scoff from somewhere in front of him, but the room fell silent again.

Gentle fingers were brushing along his side, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He inhaled deeply as the ache in his body began to fade.

"How long do you plan to hide out here?"

It was the male voice from before.

The woman sighed again, and Etienne felt two hands cup the back of his head.

He tensed momentarily out of instinct, until the delicate stirrings of restoration magic caressed his throbbing cranium. He exhaled shakily and shivered.

"I'm hardly in hiding here, Malborn. This is my home. I am Thane of this hold. I may go anywhere I please within this city."

One of the hands left the back of his head to focus on his left ribs.

" _You_ , as my guest, are also extended that courtesy. Besides," the woman added lightly, "Solitude is an enormous city. The Thalmor won't look here too closely. They'll think we're long gone, as far from the embassy as we can be.

His thoughts buzzed with the information being presented to him as he tried to break the barrier keeping him for full consciousness.

" _You_ might be able to go anywhere with confidence, but I don't exactly have the courage at this point." The man was talking again. "You're well known here. You're well known in this hold. Gods, you're well known in the entire _country_. I, on the other hand, am a random wood elf no one knows. I would stick out like a sore thumb. And if I was seen with you, the _Dragonborn_ and _Thane_ , it would be enough to make people curious."

One of those healing hands was caressing his forehead again, and he tilted his face against it.

 _Please don't stop_ , he silently begged, _it still hurts so damn much…_

"Well then, it's fortunate for you nearly no one saw us enter the city," the woman replied. "At any rate, those who did seemed much more interested in this fellow than you."

There was a pause, and then the man spoke again.

"It was a damn miracle we got into the city at all, the three of us covered in blood and him looking like he was at death's door. The guards certainly won't forget that sight. And if the Thalmor come asking questions-"

"Those guards were so deep in their cups that they didn't even realize it was their Thane requesting the gates be opened. I doubt they'll be of much use to the Thalmor."

No one spoke for a moment, until the woman spoke again a little more coldly.

"Would you have honestly preferred that I left him to die in that cave?"

The male voice did not reply immediately.

"At the time it didn't seem like he was going to make it. I didn't mean to sound heartless, Aneira," he said in a softer tone. "I was scared out of my mind. First the Thalmor dragged me into the torture room, and then we landed in a frost troll's cave. All I wanted to do was survive the night."

The female did not respond.

"I'm sorry I said to leave him behind. Although," he said pointedly, "I didn't know of your skill with restoration magic at the time. He seemed like a goner."

The woman gave a small noise of acknowledgement.

"It does seem like a miracle though," she said quietly.

'What does?"

"That he managed to hold on for all this time. He was in terrible shape when I first found him in that cell."

The man responded after a moment, but changed the subject.

"What do we do now, Aneira? Where do we go?"

The woman said nothing.

"I need to get out of here, Dragonborn. They won't ever stop hunting me now. Maybe after a few years it will let up, but it won't ever disappear."

"I know, Malborn," she said quietly. "But please, one step at a time. We'll leave Solitude when the time is right. For now," she took her hands away from his body, and he groaned involuntarily at the loss. Fingers smoothed his brow line and resumed their treatment after a moment, much to his relief. "Write a letter to Delphine. Simply address it to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Say you'll be coming to rent the attic room as soon as possible. She'll understand. Sign it with some generic sounding name…"

The two voices continued, but the darkness pressed in on his mind again, and he drifted off without much of a struggle.

In his dreams, he rode on the back of a great winged beast, soaring up out of his cage and into the night sky. Etienne screamed in excitement and terror, his cry echoed by that of the dragon beneath him. The creature's head turned to stare at him, rendering him motionless with its large, piercing violet eyes, like the color of the world when the last touch of sunlight disappeared over the mountains.

He could not be certain how long he dreamed, or what time or day it was when he finally found the strength to open his eyes.

He blinked for several moments, his eyes watering at the light shining on his face.

To his right, he saw a figure move closer, and felt a hand rest on his forehead. As the world came into focus once more, she smiled gently.

Etienne stared, transfixed, as a golden light enveloped his face. She said nothing, her deep blue eyes focused on the spell she was casting.

He said nothing as he watched her face, fighting the urge to slip into sleep again.

Finally, after many long minutes, she paused to brush his hair out of his face.

"Hello," she said softly, "welcome back."

He could not even reply before darkness fell over him again.


	5. Awake at Last

The cool tip of a glass bottle was resting against his lips. The pungent odor of a potion wafted into his nostrils. He parted his lips compliantly, accepting the bitter drought.

Etienne inhaled a long steady breath, the first he'd had in weeks that didn't cause his chest to ache terribly.

A cool cloth wiped his forehead, though his headache was almost nonexistent.

Perturbed, he opened his eyes for the second time in what felt like days of dark agony.

The first thing he noticed was the bright sunlight pouring in around him. Blinking as tears rushed to his sensitive eyes, he tried to take in more of his surroundings. The second thing he realized was that he was horizontal. The third was that he was lying in a large four poster bed, complete with warm sheets and dyed blankets.

Etienne blinked hard, dislodging the remaining dampness around his eyes and looking to the left. He neck was sore, and he closed his eyes, wincing. Opening them again, he saw a large wooden bookshelf, its shelves filled to the brim with small bottles of red, blue, and green.

Turning to look the other direction, he gave a startled cry to see a woman standing not far from him.

Without thinking, he twisted his torso, attempting to crawl away from her. His sore muscles ached sharply, protesting further action. With a moan he collapsed against the pillows again, breathing heavily.

The woman started to move and he tensed, watching her carefully. He clenched his fists beneath the blankets, willing sparks, flames, anything to come to life.

The woman held both hands up, palms facing outward.

"Calm down," she said softly, walking around to the front of the bed.

He watched her, waiting for destruction or illusion spells to appear on her fingertips. Neither appeared, but Etienne sank deeper into the soft bed.

The woman came around the other side of the bed, palms now emitting the golden glow of restoration.

"You are not in danger here," she said firmly, reaching out toward his forehead.

"Don't touch me," he began, but whimpered at the feel of her magic, calming the dull throbbing of his head. The golden tendrils extended down his neck, grazing his chest.

"Relax," she ordered, albeit softly.

Etienne kept his eyes on her, studying her face as best he could. As her spell cleared the fog away from his mind, her dark hair and face surfaced in his memory.

"You-you're the one from before," he whispered. She smiled gently, pulling down the blankets. He shivered as cool air hit his flesh, watching her hands as they hovered above his scarred torso.

"What is your name?" Her voice was soft, soothing. She lowered her palms over him.

"E-Etienne," he whispered, warily watching as her fingers glided over the scars.

She nodded slowly, starring fixedly at his chest. He didn't have any fresh wounds, but the spell alleviated the soreness the lingered.

"Where did you see me?"

He looked at her, confused. Had he been dreaming? Was he dreaming now?

"In… in that room, with _them_ ," he hissed harshly, fists clenching again.

She watched him, frowning slightly before inquiring further.

"Who are 'them?'"

"I… weren't you there? Am I going mad?"

Etienne felt the throbbing in his head return, and closed his eyes to block out the harsh sunlight. Her cool fingers returned with their wonderful healing spell, and he felt the pressure in his skull lessen.

"Just focus on the questions. It will all come back if you let it. Now," she paused, her other hand continuing its work at his side, "who are 'them?'"

"The Thalmor," he whispered, his gut clenching at the memory.

"Where did you see the Thalmor?"

"That room…in the cell… where was it?" He closed his eyes in thought, trying to remember if he'd ever known where he was.

"Do you know how long you were there?" She ceased her ministrations, placing a cloth against the side of his neck. He hadn't realized that he was perspiring so badly.

"No," Etienne mumbled, licking his lips. Healing potion aside, his mouth felt horribly dry.

"A moment," she said, relinquishing the cloth and moving to the shelf. She turned back quickly, offering him another bottle.

Water slowly trailed into his mouth. He tried to reach up and grab the bottle away from her, to drink it quickly, but a hand held his left arm firmly on the bed.

"Not too much at once," she chided, lifting the bottle away for him to breathe, "You'll make yourself ill."

He swallowed carefully, taking a deep breath before nodding for more. She leaned over him carefully, brushing his damp hair away from his face.

"Etienne, do you remember how you met me?"

He stared into her blue eyes, his brow creasing as he focused. She placed both palms on the sides of his head, and he was immersed in golden light. It framed her face, shining around her like a helmet…

"You broke in," he breathed in disbelief. "Wherever I was, you broke in. I remember…" he paused, closing his eyes as the images washed through his sore head, "you got me out of the chains."

She nodded, watching him.

Etienne tried to lean up, shifting his arms beneath him to lift himself from the pillows. The pulling sensation at his side caused him to groan and abandon the attempt.

"Lie still," she commanded, a strict tone entering her voice.

"Yeah, no kidding," he mumbled, fingers feeling along the ridges lining his side.

"I have dealt with them as well as I am able. There has been no infection." He looked at her, standing over him with hands constantly healing. "There is little I can do regarding the muscle deterioration and blood loss. Those need to be replenished on their own." Pausing again, she brought her hand back to his left side. "The healing potion they gave you had already started the body's natural healing process. At that point all I could do was accelerate it. Your scars," she paused again, examining his lined chest, "are likely to fade, given time."

Etienne nodded dully, bitterly eyeing his marked body. If they had been more generous with their spells instead of their potions, the wounds would have healed much more smoothly. Fresh hatred started to bubble inside him at their cruelty.

Looking at the woman again, he remembered what she had been wearing when she freed him; a complete set of elven armor, allowing her to blend in with his tormentors at first glance. He recalled how she'd battle Thalmor agents and completely annihilated them, despite being out numbered. And dimly, Etienne remembered walking through a terrible cold tunnel, wearing borrowed clothes and wielding only a dagger before coming across a troll.

"The troll," he grunted, causing her to glance at him, "what happened?" She did not answer him immediately, and, agitated, Etienne reached up to grab one of her wrists. "We were in that cave. I remembered the troll, and trying to escape, but then…" He shook his head wearily, frustration bubbling up at his failure to remember. "It's a haze, after that. I keep seeing its face near to mine, and terrible pain, but other than that, nothing."

She gave a _humph_ of laughter at that, and he glared at her. "I don't see what could possibly be funny about this situation."

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye before turning back to the bookshelf. He watched, brow furrowed, as she drank one magicka potion, then another.

Belatedly, he realized she must have been spending all her magicka on healing him for some time now. And he hadn't exactly thanked her.

"You-" Etienne began, but was interrupted.

"You can't remember what happened after that because you were unconscious," she stated matter-of-factly. "You took a pretty bad hit to the head, on top of… everything else you were suffering from." She shook her head slightly. "Blood loss, lacerations, malnourishment, very little cover in a freezing cave, and to top it off, you cracked you skull on a chunk of ice."

She looked at him, a disbelieving smile on her face.

"Your will to live is tenacious, I'll give you that."

They spoke little after that, Etienne preferring to rest his beleaguered body without the effort of speech. She said nothing outside of enquiring where he still felt sore. Eventually, his body grew too weak to remain conscious, and she gave him one last drink of water and a healing potion before allowing him to sleep.

When he woke again, the sun was no longer high in the sky. The room had grown chillier, though another fur blanket had been laid on the bed.

Turning to the door he saw, instead of his dark-haired savior, a blonde woman in steel armor sitting at the door.

Alarmed, Etienne shifted beneath the covers, coming to sit against the headboard. His mind vaguely acknowledged that his torso ached only slightly at the movement, much to his relief.

The blonde woman stood at his movement, standing tall enough to nearly fill the doorframe.

"Are you well, sir?" She spoke clearly and with a calm demeanor, but the sword at her side and armor on her body were enough to worry him.

"Who are you?" Etienne blurted out with no hesitation, looking quickly around the room.

The woman raised her head, chin in the air.

"I am Jordis the Sword Maiden, housecarl to Proudspire Manor under the command of the Thane of Haafingar. I have been charged with guarding you in my Thane's absence." Etienne simply blinked at her, a little wide eyed. The housecarl continued without much of a pause. "My Thane has also informed me that you are recovering from substantial bodily trauma, and are not to exert yourself. Now," the housecarl approached him quickly, standing at the side of the bed. Etienne resisted the urge to roll away, knowing he wouldn't get very far. "Thane Aneira has further requested that you have something to eat, if you are feeling able. So," she peered down at him, "would you like to eat?"

Mouth hanging open a bit stupidly, his stomach answered for him with a large, embarrassing growl. The housecarl's lips twitched.

"Your body is still in recovery, so you may not have any heavy foods. I shall bring you a light meal." Jordis turned and headed for the door, stopping in the entrance when he finally found his voice again.

"Wait!" Etienne yelled, sitting up straight again. The housecarl turned to look at him. "I don't-Where _am I_?" Etienne stuttered, frustration and confusion evident in his sore voice.

The housecarl stared at him for a long moment, her brow furrowed. She answered him slowly.

"You are in Proudspire Manor, residence of Thane Aneira." Jordis stated carefully.

Letting out a sigh of frustration, Etienne slumped against the pillows.

"Who _is_ that?"

Jordis blinked at him a few times, eyebrows now high on her head.

"You do not know my Thane?" Jordis asked quizzically, tilting her head. Etienne shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line. Jordis straightened with a bewildered expression.

"My Thane, Aneira Grey-Dawn, is the highly honored member of both the Companions of Whiterun and the College of Winterhold. She holds thaneship in the Holds of Haafingar, the Rift, and Whiterun. She is known as the People's Champion, the Light of Meridia, Dragon Slayer, Legend Maker, Daughter of Akatosh, and Kyne's Breath." Etienne only continued to stare at her, the names meaning little. "Surely you have heard at least some whisper of her deeds?" Jordis asked incredulously, staring at his befuddled face.

"I have been… out of touch with current events for some time," Etienne mumbled, rubbing his head. There was, however, something deeply familiar about that name. _Aneira_ , he thought. He could have sworn he'd heard it before. Had he heard it before the Thalmor took him? Or had it come to him afterward?

The memory was foggy, but the name stood out. Along with another…

His eyes widened slightly as he looked at the housecarl.

"But, forgive me, sir, surely you at least know _what_ she is?" He shook his head in denial, even as the brief, hazy memory surged up. "Thane Aneira is the Dragonborn!"


	6. Recovery

He decided that Solitude wasn't half bad. It was chillier than Riften, but given all the time he had spent in the icy cellars he was fairly used to it.

It probably helped, Etienne mused, that unlike his previous visits, he was seeing the city in the sunlight. Sitting at a table on the back porch he looked out across the Karth River, watching as it met the sea. The enormous glaciers that bordered Skyrim were visible to him, reflecting the winter sun. Large chunks of ice drifted down the river, where they would no doubt cause trouble for the ships and fishermen. The Sea of Ghosts was a frozen mass this time of year, with thick white clouds looming over the horizon.

The ability to appreciate this view might be worth legality in Haafingar.

Wrapped in a gloriously warm black bear pelt, wearing cold resistant boots and gloves, a mug of Honningbrew in hand, life almost seemed pleasant.

A harsh breeze sailed through the window, chilling his face. Shivering, he looked at the door into Proudspire.

"Would you like to go inside now, sir?" Jordis asked, leaning casually against the stone wall. The cold didn't seem to bother her, which he attributed to her natural Nordic resistance. No doubt she was also helped by the set of enchanted armor that she wore.

He signed, watching his breath fog in front of him.

"I may as well. Not like the cold is doing me any good."

Still, he took his time rising from the small wooden table.

"Thane Aneira was insistent that you have some fresh air while recuperating," the housecarl stated, standing straight and opening the door. "She is quite versed in such matters."

"Yeah, yeah," Etienne mumbled, shuffling into the warmth. "Drop the formality, will you? Your Thane isn't here and I don't much care about it."

Jordis did not comment, taking the pelt off his shoulders and draping it over a nearby chair. Etienne wasted no time heading for the chair in the kitchen. Whether Jordis was cooking or not, the fire was always blazing.

Jordis sat in her typical seat around the corner. She had a pile of books on the table, and always seemed to be reading from one.

"When is she due back, by the way?" Etienne asked softly, taking off his borrowed gloves and warming his hands.

"My Thane gave no clear indication. She left immediately after you fell asleep yesterday morning. She said that she would be gone for a day or two at most. You have been asked to wait for her." Jordis took a drink from her mead. "She desires to speak with you concerning the events of your meeting."

Etienne frowned at the flames. The cooking pot bubbled cheerfully, spraying hot liquid in his direction. He leapt back, scowling.

"So she just left without giving definite answers?"

He heard Jordis give a _huff_ of displeasure from around the corner, and heard her set down the book.

"You were unconscious for the majority of the first day. You awoke only once during the day on the second, then later at night when we spoke." He heard her turn a page in her book. "You slept until eight o' clock this morning, and it is only noon." He turned, and she poked her head around the corner. "Clearly you need a lesson in patience."

Etienne bristled slightly, glaring at the blonde.

"I'm plenty patient, housecarl. All my life I've been dealing in patience and opportunity." Patience had nothing to do with his unease, anyway. He knew enough about Skyrim's layout to know how close the Embassy was to Solitude. His rescuer had left him within their reach.

Jordis rolled her eyes before returning to her book.

"The lives of sneak thieves sound so very arduous," she said wryly.

Etienne looked at her sharply, stiffening in his chair. Jordis looked at him with an eyebrow quirked, still holding her book. Etienne mirrored her expression.

"That's a funny thing to say, housecarl. Why don't you elaborate?"

Jordis rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

"Did you really think the Dragonborn wouldn't figure it out?"

Etienne stared at her, a little stunned. He couldn't deny that Jordis and his savior's hospitality had been appreciated, but he hadn't thought they knew who he was. Or rather, _what_ he was. The fact that they did changed the situation.

A warning seemed to crawl up his spine.

The Dragonborn might be keeping him here long enough to make sure he lived before handing him over to Solitude's guards. Or perhaps she would wait until she had the information the Thalmor had wanted before handing him over.

"You needn't worry about your safety. My Thane would not have offered this house as sanctuary if she intended to hand you over to the guards.

"You can't expect me to just take your word at face value, Sword-Maiden," Etienne muttered darkly. "Considering my recent living arrangements, I'm a bit hesitant to trust." A reasonable voice in his head told him to rely on Jordis' thane, to rest easy knowing she was keeping him safe. But he'd already been betrayed at least once by someone in the last few weeks, and wasn't tempted to repeat the experience.

The Nord's lips thinned as she gave him a reproachful look.

"It's hardly polite to compare the women who've been feeding and healing you to your tormentors, _thief_."

"The _Dragonborn_ is supposed to be a paragon of honor," Etienne snapped, "Why would she shelter a member of the Guild in her home?"

Jordis looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Funny. I only said sneak thief. You're the one who brought up the Guild. Why is that," she glanced at him slyly, "do you think?"

Etienne blinked for a moment, his mouth gaping at his own idiocy. _Well,_ he thought numbly, _if that didn't sound guilty as hell…_

"They usually go hand in hand," he added lamely. He didn't move, simply staring at the Nord as she put down her book.

"Etienne, Aneira instructed me to check with the guards the day she brought you here. You don't have a bounty in Haafingar, so she isn't exactly harboring a fugitive." Jordis approached the cooking pot, causing Etienne to flinch back into a cupboard. "Relax," she muttered, lifting the wooden spoon and stirring the contents. "Furthermore, she knew what you were when she freed you from wherever it is they were keeping you. Told me early on that you were a thief from the Ratway that the Thalmor had captured for information about someone else living down there." Jordis met his eyes. "Isn't that the truth?"

Etienne struggled for a moment, unwilling to divulge anything to the woman. Yes, she'd looked after him, but under orders. She hadn't done anything to make him want to bare his soul, and certainly not his torment.

"You don't have to answer, I was there when she tended to you," she admitted softly, turning to take a bowl off the shelf.

Etienne didn't speak as she carefully filled a bowl with tomato soup and handed it to him before preparing her own bowl.

"I won't pretend to understand all her decisions, but Aneira was determined to save you that night, and she's determined to keep you safe now." Jordis raised an eyebrow at him. "Doing what she says has always worked out for the best, at least in my experience. Is that good enough for you?" She returned to her table and quietly ate her lunch, leaving him be when he chose to eat reclining against the wall.

It was not in the nature of a Guild member to trust. Hell, they barely trusted each other enough to sleep and eat together in the Flagon, and even that limited measure of security had stabbed him in the back. Trusting a random housecarl? That wasn't going to happen any time soon, he thought resolutely. Trusting the woman who saved his life, apparently more than once… might not be impossible.

Focusing on his meal, he declined to answer Jordis' question, though she didn't appear to want a response. If all she wanted was for him to wait around and eat free meals, he could do that.

Grimacing at his quickly emptied bowl, his stomach growled in demand for more sustenance.

"I'd kill for a bit of meat right now," he said, approaching the pot again. "Apple cabbage stew, vegetable soup, tomato soup. I feel like a bloody rabbit."

Jordis gave him a withering look.

"Doubtful, considering rabbits eat the stuff raw. Without seasoning, and cold."

"Didn't mean to insult your cooking, Sword-Maiden," Etienne said, mostly to himself as he helped himself to another bowl. Meatless or not, the stuff was good.

"Obviously not," she called, peering around the corner. "I'm not even halfway through mine yet," she added pointedly.

"I've been starved for weeks," he said sullenly, returning to his wall spot, "so forgive me if I enjoy fresh food."

Jordis' lips thinned, no doubt in pity, and he refused to look at her any longer. He scowled at himself for such a pathetic sounding statement.

"Regardless, your body isn't ready for something as heavy as meat." She returned to her book, no doubt noting that he'd made himself uncomfortable with the conversation.

Etienne said nothing in response, cradling the bowl in his palm. Having salted soggy bread forced into his mouth chased by a weak healing potion would make a simple carrot taste like heaven. The feel of a warm meal in his hands was fascinating. The fact that he'd never really noticed it before disgusted him.

Diving into his second bowl, the hot broth traveled down his throat almost faster than he could swallow. Within moments his stomach began to roll. Paling, he set the bowl down quickly, causing it to rock and shake against the wooded cupboard. Inhaling deeply in an attempt to steady the nausea rolling through him, he barely noticed Jordis approaching until she tucked an arm around his back.

"Come on, sneak thief. Sit down." She led him quickly to the table, sitting him down carefully and retrieving a bottle of wine from the shelves behind him.

"Drink it," she ordered, "but only in small sips." Etienne nodded, carefully letting the liquid brush his lips. The drink, aside from the usual bite accompanied by all alcohol, had a peculiar kick that made his throat burn. He sputtered for a moment, looking at Jordis.

"What in Oblivion did you give me?" He gasped, looking down at the label.

"Spiced Wine," Jordis responded casually, retrieving his bowl and placing it in front of him again. "It's a bit of a specialty around these parts."

He eyed the bottle distastefully. Of course he'd heard of the drink, everyone in Skyrim had, but he'd never felt like tasting it before now. Jordis knocked a hand against the bottom.

"Take the sips. The spice helps you get ahold of yourself." Etienne cocked an eyebrow at her doubtfully. She smiled blandly. "Thane Aneira and I can personally attest to its healing effects."

Shaking his head, Etienne did as he was bid. It took many minutes, but eventually his stomach settled and his appetite returned.

"Slowly this time, Etienne," Jordis warned. "You might feel better, but your body has some catching up to do."

"Noted," he said, promptly swallowing a spoonful.

Jordis rolled her eyes and returned to her book.

"What're you reading anyway?" He finally asked, looking for a title on the worn cover.

" _A Game at Dinner,"_ she replied, turning a yellowed page.

Etienne frowned. "Isn't that the one about the royal who poisons his guests?"

Jordis smirked slightly. "Something like that." She looked up and smiled primly. "When I am finished, you may have it."

"Pass," he mumbled, eyeing his soup suspiciously. Hell with it. He'd already downed a full bowl. Either he was a dead man or he wasn't. After the treatment the Thalmor had given him, he was determined to go to his grave on a full stomach.

Etienne carefully swallowed his last gulp and leaned back in his wooden chair, relieved that the sickness didn't return. Now that lunch was finished he wondered what he could do to keep himself occupied. The Dragonborn might not be back until tomorrow, and he didn't fancy the idea of stewing in his thoughts until then.

Out of habit, he did a casual sweep of the room. His perusal told him that there was nothing of great value in the room, outside from some quality dinnerware. The book shelf and cabinet behind him were filled with colorful tomes and Nordic artifacts, some looking particularly wicked. Nothing else stood out in the living room, but in the bedroom they'd given him there was a safe and chest. No doubt those had some nice treasure inside. He'd also notice that the stairs led to a cellar. His imagination swam at the thought of what the Dragonborn might keep in storage.

Etienne hadn't seen her in Riften before he was taken, though she had definitely made her mark on the city. He remembered the excitement that had shot through the holds when the Dragonborn's existence was revealed. Old Snow-Shod had started ranting about how he had been sent by the Divines to purge the Imperial sickness from Skyrim and avenge people like his daughter. He hadn't been the only one to make such claims. The Stormcloaks all over the country began to call out for the Dragonborn to join them, to stand beside Ulfric Stormcloak as they defended Talos. Of course, he recalled, that had been back when everyone had automatically assumed that the Dragonborn was a hardy, male Nordic warrior, before the truth was slowly revealed. She was confirmed to be a woman, though that in itself didn't disturb many people. The Nords didn't mind welcoming a shield-maiden into their fold. No, he remembered with a grin, it had been the rumors about her _race_ that made people start to fuss. Etienne remembered a few conversations from various taverns in the provinces, where he'd heard arguments break out concerning her lineage. Tavern brawls had erupted over whether or not she was a Nord, an Imperial, a Breton, or hell, an _elf._ He'd always gotten out of the way when those dialogues started up. They were hard to avoid, though, with every bard in every city playing one tune or another about the Dragonborn coming to save them all. Etienne had scoffed at the time.

_Shows how much I know,_ he mused, washing down the last of his bottle.

From what he'd gathered from Jordis and his own foggy memory, she'd already made quite the name for herself and earned the love of many people, Nord or otherwise. The things she must have seen, must have done in her life. Etienne glanced at the basement stairs again, curiosity bubbling inside of him. From what he'd heard before that fateful day in the tunnels, her journeys had taken her all over Skyrim. A dozen dragons dead, magical excavation with the Winterhold college, Nordic ruins plundered-

"By the way, _thief_ ," Jordis' voice cut through his musings. "If you even _think_ of lifting something from this house, the only thing you'll be leaving with is a dagger through your hand."

Etienne looked at her, eyebrows raised. Jordis didn't return his stare, but somehow a golden dagger had found its way silently onto the table. It had a sinister green hue to it.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Maybe my moral code isn't the most spotless, Sword-Maiden," he ground out, "but even I have some sense of honor. I wouldn't steal from someone who saved my life."

The habit to scope out a place was ingrained in him. Didn't mean he was actually going to start pocketing things. More pressing than that, he knew from tales swapped around the Flagon that the Dragonborn had taken down every thief that went after her. Even if he didn't owe her a sizeable debt, he wouldn't try to pick a fight with her.

Jordis hummed in acknowledgement before rising to refill her own bowl. On impulse, Etienne snatched the bowl from her hand.

"What-" Jordis protested, until Etienne easily filled her bowl in one fluid motion. He handed it back to her and gave a little bow.

"And I'm perfectly capable of being a grateful gentlemen," he said casually, leaving his bowl and spoon with the other dirty dishes.

He grabbed a book off the table, walking back up the stairs. Etienne heard Jordis give another very put-upon sigh as he rounded the first set.

Planting himself in the upper sitting room, he opened the book and resolved himself to spend his hours productively. He wouldn't feel safe leaving house until he saw the Dragonborn again anyway. He was more than willing to wait for her to come home.


	7. Entreaty

Something was jostling him lightly, causing his face to slide against something smooth. His cheek was stuck to it, slipping up and down as something shook his shoulder insistently.

Groaning, he shifted away from the pressure, willing the force to disappear. Memories of a cruel blade digging into his shoulder surfaced, and his throat clenched tightly to stifle a cry.

"Wake up, Etienne," a voice whispered urgently, breath fanning his ear.

Misery flooded his mind as the force shifted to his face, giving him a light slap. "Don't know anything," he moaned, shifting to the right. His elbow slid off the surface of the table, and the sudden loss of support made him slide out of his chair and nearly crack his already fragile skull on the floor.

Panic seized him for a spilt second before something clasped his arm. Grasping his bicep it pulled him upright, agitating the still sore muscles in his limbs. Realizing his arms were free of any shackles, he twisted violently in their hold. His right hand balled into a fist that sailed through the air to his left. It was caught by cold metal fingers, which circled his wrist tightly. Etienne continued to struggle, tugging his hand out of their hold before the metal hand firmly gripped his shoulder.

"Easy there," a calm voice spoke softly into his ear.

Blinking the wisps of sleep out of his eyes, he turned to observe the Dragonborn hovering over him.

"Wha-what the-?" He gasped, a hand covering his heart.

She said nothing, cocking her head slightly.

"Sorry. You were sleeping in my book and we don't have time to waste."

Etienne looked down, vision still slightly blurry as he gazed at the crease within the book his head had apparently been resting one.

"Are you well? Has there been any lingering pain in your head or chest?"

Etienne put a hand to his forehead, shaking it slightly.

"None for a while now. You sure patched me up well," he said wearily.

Glancing back up, he realized the Dragonborn was wearing an impressive set of leather armor. Before he could ask where she'd been, or why she was back so early, she began to speak again.

"There's little time to explain," she said, lifting him up by the arm she still grasped. He stumbled to his feet, letting out a small grunt when a heavy sack made contact with his abdomen. "This is sudden, but the situation is dire. Put these on. We will travel lightly, but Jordis is packing us some provisions. They'll last us until we get to the city." When he made no immediate move to comply with her orders, the Dragonborn sighed heavily and wrapped an arm around his waist, leading him into the master bedroom.

"I-what-what's happening?" He stuttered, trying not to fall as she directed him to the bedroom door. The Dragonborn gave him a light shove through the door before closing it behind him.

"Please, get dressed," she ordered through the wood, "and I will explain."

Blinking at the wood, he glared for a moment at her manhandling before dumping the contents of the sack onto the floor. It was a full set of leather armor, slightly darker than the one she wore. Deciding it was wiser at the moment to obey her than to argue, Etienne began stripping off his borrowed tunic and pants.

"What's going on?" Etienne called, heaving the cuirass over his torso. Not bothering with each buckle, he pulled on one of the boots.

"We need to get to Riften."

He fumbled momentarily with the buckles of his borrowed boots, a disbelieving gasp escaping him. "Why in Oblivion would I risk my neck in Riften?" He whirled on the closed door, holding the other boot limply in his left hand. "That's where they found me the first time!" The thought of going home, to his own territory, had lost nearly all its appeal. The Guild had not protected him before, and he doubted they could help him now. After all, he thought bitterly, their supposed benefactor had been the one to sell him out.

"Because a man's life is at stake, and I need your help." She paused for a moment. "Keep dressing, _please_."

Desperation slipped into her tone, and Etienne backed away from the door as if afraid she would throw it open.

"N-no. No, I can't. I can't." He shook his head faintly, backing up until he hit the bed and sat on it shakily.

"Etienne, _please-_ "

"Don't you understand what you're asking?" He bellowed, dropping the boot to the floor. Pushing his wrists against his eyes, he shuddered at the memories of long, golden fingers reaching out and seizing his throat, the prick of knife coated in paralysis poison against his neck.

"Don't ask me this, Dragonborn," he mumbled, curling over his knees.

"Etienne," her voice called gently, like a whisper sliding under the door. He fought the urge to cover his ears like a child. "Etienne, I," she paused for a moment, "I know this isn't right. Nothing that happened to you was right." She said nothing else for another long moment, and he sat bent over his legs. "But I need you."

Etienne clutched his head. Looking at the door, he fought the urge to barrel past the wood and disappear into the night. Like the thief he was. Like the coward he'd always been.

"Dragonborn, I-"

"I saved you that night, but I never intended to ask anything of you in return." He heard her sigh. "But this… if this man isn't found, I don't even want to think about the consequences." Etienne frowned at the floor, trying to swallow the fear that threatened to explode from his throat. "I swear to the Divines, this is the only thing I will ever ask of you. After that, you needn't even see me again." Watching the wooden door, he swallowed thickly again before gingerly picking up the leather boot. It glowed with magic, most likely a protective enchantment. "Follow me, Etienne. I need your help."

Fully aware that she couldn't see him, he nodded heavily, squeezing the dark leather between his hands. Wiping the sweat that beaded his brow, he undid the buckles.

"What could you possibly need me for?" Etienne called minutes later, tucking the helmet under his arm. The small part of his mind that wasn't spinning noticed how well built the armor set was.

"You're the only person I know that can help me navigate the Ratway."

He probably should have guessed it would involve the Guild. What else could someone like the Dragonborn need _him_ for? To pick a lock?

"Why do you need to go to the Ratway? Planning on joining the thieves? Or the beggars?" His voice sounded strained to his own ears, and he picked up the bottle of water still sitting on table. The Dragonborn didn't answer, and he took a large drink to sooth his throat.

He opened the door to find her shifting the contents of the bookshelf. She glanced at him for half a second before pulling down a large tome.

"There's a man hiding down there. A very important man." She flipped the book open, pulling out pieces of paper tucked among the pages. Unfolding it, she spread it out on the table. Bracing both arms on the table, she leaned over it. Approaching, Etienne realized it was a detailed map of Riften. Laying the helmet on the table, he began to tighten the binds of the bracers on his wrists. "There is one entrance to the Ratway in the city itself, under Honorhall." She punctuated the sentence by jabbing the map with one finger. "I know the thieves have their own private entrance. The whole city knows it's how you all sneak in and out without being caught." At this she looked at him. "You need to tell me where it is."

Etienne looked at her incredulously, waiting for her to expand on the statement. When she said nothing, he gave disbelieving laugh.

"Can't happen," he said, tightening his left bracer. His palms were beginning to sweat again. "I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but that would be signing my own death warrant. And I've got one too many as it is."

Her blue eyes focused on his behind her helmet.

"And if this man dies, or is captured, before I have a chance to speak to him, we might _all_ die." She pointed to the map again.

"Even if I wanted to tell you, that entrance wouldn't do you any good!" Etienne insisted, leaning over the map with her. "That entrance drops you straight into the Guild, not the Ratway. And even _you_ won't make it out of there cleanly."

She drew herself up, gazing at him evenly.

"I'm more than willing to put that theory to the test. This cannot be helped."

Etienne signed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he turned away. Loyalty to his fellow thieves, his only family for over a decade, repulsed the idea of betraying them, even to his savior. That didn't even include that fact he was fairly certain they would try to kill her, and she'd take down a good number of them before they got to her. While he wasn't exactly fond of all of them, he had friends among their ranks. Sending her down the graveyard entrance would be offering them all up for slaughter, her included.

"The man in danger," the Dragonborn began, pulling him around to face her, "is the same man the Thalmor tortured you about." He looked at her, brows furrowed. "Whether or not you know him personally, or just have a vague idea of where he is in the Ratway, I _need_ you to tell me."

He rubbed a hand across his eyes before pointing to the painting. The Dragonborn followed his index finger, frowning when he pointed to Honorhall.

"It wouldn't do you any good to go in anywhere but here. The Ratway's a route of dank tunnels with thugs and thieves hiding around every corner. And that's not even including some of the psychos hiding out the deeper you go…" He trailed off.

"It doesn't _matter_ , Etienne," she exclaimed, snatching the map and folding it again. "I won't leave Esbern at their mercy. If the Thalmor get to him, he'll go down fighting, I'm sure of it." Her expression darkened slightly. "If he really is the man I'm looking for, it'll be in his nature."

"Well dropping into the Guild isn't going to help you or him!" Etienne snapped, pulling forcefully on the right bracer. "They won't wait for an explanation. They'll just kill us both." He tightened his grip, trying to keep his fingers from slipping. Looking her in the eye, he went on. "The only way for someone like you to get through the Ratway to this old man is to go through the Flagon."

Her eyes narrowed. "I thought the base of the Guild's operations _was_ the Flagon."

Etienne scoffed, weighing his new helmet in his hands. "Yeah, that's what we want you to think."

She pursed her lips, slapping the map in her hand. It looked for a moment like she was going to say more, when Jordis' voice came from beyond the upper balcony. "My Thane! Your sack is ready!"

The Dragonborn looked at him steadily, not moving toward the stairs. "We can discuss this on the way there." Tapping the helmet, she gestured for him to put it on. "Are you ready?" She asked, putting the map in a pouch at her hip.

"No," Etienne whispered as he secured the helmet. "But I never will be, so we may as well get on with this." He looked at her, trying to control his breathing as fear began to bubble in his stomach.

Surprisingly, she gave him a small smile before turning toward the stairs. "That's what I tell myself every day."


	8. Above Suspicion

He'd never skulked through the darkness quite so casually.

When the Dragonborn had given him a dark riding cloak and led him out of her house through the basement exit, he'd assumed that they would be clinging to the walls and shadows as they left the city.

Instead, they were walking through the city in perfect view of both the guards and socializing revelers. The Dragonborn had already accepted a free sample of spiced wine, as well as a sweet roll given to her by a young blonde girl. She'd handed him half the sweet roll, eating hers casually as they approached the main gates.

"Dragonborn-"

"Aneira."

Etienne's mouth shut for a moment in confusion.

"What?"

"Divines, Etienne. Only guards and posturing nobles call me Dragonborn. At least to my face."

He frowned, eyeing her face as the guards on either side gave her a salute. The gates opened with an awful grinding creak, letting a cold wind blow into the city. She walked out of the city without hesitation, striding purposefully down the road.

Etienne did not have the confidence that action required. He stared for a moment at the stone walls of Solitude, offering sanctuary and safety, even this close to the Thalmor Embassy.

One of the guards turned to watch him, arms crossed casually.

"Problem, citizen?"

A sharp stab of anxiety shot through him as he hurried down the path after the Dragonborn, wishing he could pull his cloak more tightly around his face without looking suspicious.

The Dragonborn didn't react when he fell into step beside her, or when he continued to glance behind them when they passed the docks. She carefully stepped around the wet puddles of snow and ice that dotted the road, never pausing for a moment to check their surroundings.

As they strode down the cobbled path, Aneira uncorked the bottle of wine an old man with a long mustache had given her.

"Weren't we trying to avoid attention?" Etienne blurted out, raising an eyebrow as she took a swig.

She didn't answer immediately, raising her own eyebrow at him in question. Swallowing the wine, she offered him the bottle.

"Why would we do that?"

He passed on the wine with a jerk of his hand, staring at her as if she were insane.

"Because last I checked we're both wanted by the Thalmor!" He hissed, glaring slightly when she responded with another swallow. The sweet roll was nearly forgotten in his fist, icing smearing his palm.

Aneira gave him a reproachful look as she eyed the sticky mess, licking her bottom lip lightly for a drop of wine. He swallowed slightly, unnerved as his focus was drawn to her mouth.

"People who are wanted by the Thalmor don't take carriages for long journeys, or walk freely through the cities, wouldn't you agree?" She asked quietly, taking another drink.

Etienne blinked at her, quickly realizing where she was going with that train of thought. "So we're hiding in plain sight? Isn't that too risky?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, and he scowled.

"It's been working for me quite well these past months." She gave him a sly look. "You thieves think no one sees you lurking in the shadows. Don't you know that's where everyone looks for threats?" Etienne opened his mouth to retort, but couldn't get the words out. Aneira watched him, waiting patiently for him to respond. He felt a flare of anger at her patronizing.

"And yet even looking for us, the good ones aren't ever caught. What does that tell _you_?"

She shrugged, shoving the bottle toward him again. Etienne huffed but took it, taking a long drink. The spice burned down his throat, but he had to admit it was delicious. All the times he'd traveled to Solitude on a job, and he'd never stopped to try its delicacy before that day.

They walked in silence for many minutes before nearing the small farm which served as Solitude's stables. A large carriage was waiting for them, its back carriage suspiciously empty. Usually coaches carried basic provisions as well as passengers, due to trade agreements or personal purchases. Eying the cart warily, he saw several large bulky bags resting against the side of the carriage.

The Dragonborn marched up to the carriage without preamble, handing him what looked like a small bag of coins before ushering Etienne up the steps. He sat down cautiously, watching as Aneira and the coachman loaded the bags into the cart after him.

Placing one foot on the step, she hopped lightly onto the bench in front of him, carry a final bag.

"I wasn't completely serious before. We aren't actually going to be traveling without cover." Reaching into the bag, she produced a thick woolen blanket and a small, flat head rest. Aneira handed him both before pulling out another set. "I'm not entirely foolish." She gestured to the luggage around them. "Thaer is taking this merchandise to Whiterun. As long as we remain on the benches like so, with the bags positioned as they are, we won't be noticeable." Setting her head rest down on the bench she wrapped herself in the blanket. "Thaer has been well compensated to drive through the night until we reach Whiterun. From there, we will transfer to horseback," she froze for a moment before looking at him, eyes wide. "You can ride, can't you?"

He scoffed for a moment in offense before answering her. "Of course I can ride a bloody horse. I'm a grown man."

Aneira said nothing, merely raising her hands in a placating gesture beneath the cover.

Etienne scowled as she lay down on the carriage, seeming perfectly content out in the open. She eyed him for a moment, raising a brow when he didn't follow her lead.

"It will take hours to reach Whiterun, you know," Aneira pointed out. "We're taking a carriage because both of us need to sleep before then."

Etienne scoffed, but mimicked her pose. The blanket was thick and warm, thought the flat pillow did little for him.

"What about bandits?" Etienne asked quietly as the carriage began to move.

"I'm quite skilled in both magic and hand to hand combat. Thaer will wake both of us if he sees trouble." Etienne's expressed remained wary, and Aneira sighed heavily, burrowing further into her blanket.

"Typically, the first person a bandit will go for is the driver, if they're willing to kill." Etienne muttered. "Which they are."

"Which is why I gave Thaer two rings, gloves, boots, a leather breast plate to wear under his clothes, and a helmet. All of which have been enchanted to improve his defense and health." Etienne opened his mouth to reply, but found himself without a retort. With that kind of protection, even an arrow would have trouble killing him quickly. And stray bandits didn't coordinate their attacks well enough to anticipate a protected carriage driver. "If we're stopped on the road, the merchandise is ours and we plan to sell it in Whiterun. If, Divines forbid, Thalmor justiciars order the carriage to halt, they will be in for an unpleasant surprise."

Etienne nodded slightly, remembering her proficiency with destruction magic.

"Sleep, Etienne." Aneira whispered. "We're going to need our strength."


	9. Calm Before the Storm

Whiterun began to glow as the light of the winter dawn shone on it. He squinted, trying to bury his face in the head rest. It had become virtually flat overnight, leaving him without much comfort for the ride.

It seemed that Aneira had slept without issue, even as the cart bobbed along the rocky paths. Etienne almost wanted to resent her for that. Her ability to sleep peacefully in the cold Skyrim air, under threat of a bandit raid, when he could hardly lie still for five minutes, was as incredible as it was irritating. It occurred to him, however, that she might simply be used to traveling under such inconvenient conditions, and maybe he shouldn't begrudge her for acclimating herself to them.

As the cart creaked along, he bitterly realized that his lack of sleep probably had very little to do with the uncomfortable carriage anyway. It was hardly the first uncomfortable spot he'd rested in. No, his insomnia no doubt stemmed from the fact that every time the carriage jostled him, he was bracing himself for a slap. Every time the wilds of Skyrim echoed around him, he waited for the sound to become an elven accent demanding answers.

In the sanctuary she had provided at Proudspire Manor, Etienne had been able to let the wounds heal in peace. With only Jordis for company, he'd been able to put the torture out of his mind. In that sunny, warm, welcoming house overlooking the sea, danger hadn't seemed close. Now, he was exposed. Despite the healing he'd undergone, the skin on his left side was a constant reminder. His long, jagged scar pulled whenever he shifted position, and turned a sickly purple in the cold.

He turned to the side, working out the stiff muscles in his back. Thinking of the cold, he glanced at the Whiterun plains. The grass had been covered with snow, Skyrim clearly embracing the winter months. The wind rolled across their cart, stirring the blanket and his hair. To his surprise, the wind did not sting or bite with cold. Looking back, the trip had been remarkably warm for traveling through the night in the coldest time of year. Etienne glanced down at his right hand, where a silver enchanted ring rested on his first finger. He wondered if everything she had given him bore an enchantment to keep him warm. The Dragonborn certainly thought of everything.

Lying on his right facing Aneira, he observed her features as she slept. The rumors alluding to her mixed heritage definitely had some merit. Her skin was pale and her lips full like the average Nord, though her thick hair was dark, unlike the Nord's more delicate blonds and browns. It wasn't black, however, but a strange, dark brown that seemed to glow with a coppery shine in the dawn light. Her upturned eyes and narrow ears were more reminiscent of Bretons, whose bizarre mix of Elven features persisted to this day. Her face was angled like the Imperials, but soft around the edges. Her forehead wasn't wide like most Bretons he'd known in his life, nor was her hair straight like his, but wavy and long.

The early morning cast a hazy light across the plains, highlighting the fog as it drifted over the grasslands. From his angle, their cart seemed interrupt the perfect mist surrounding them. It gave her an ethereal glow, not unlike the one she'd seemed to have when she saved him.

Abruptly, the cart turned to cross the bridge toward the city, shifting the contents of the carriage, including the woman. An arm came out from under her blanket, reaching up to grasp the carriage wall. Heaving herself into a sitting position, Aneira reached up to bring her hair away from her eyes. Securing it away from her face with a length of leather, she turned to look at him.

"Sleep well?"

Her voice had a husky quality he'd not heard from her before, and an unwilling blush crept up his cheeks.

"As well as can be expected on a rickety cart," Etienne grumbled, mimicking her position.

She sighed as she twisted her dark locks into a bun at her nape.

"Why is no one else a morning person?" Aneira muttered before spinning around to sit facing him. He put his legs on the carriage floor, keeping the blanket around his shoulders. "We're going to make a few stops in the city before heading out. There are a few people I need to speak with. If you prefer, you may remain in my house and rest."

His eyebrows rose comically as he stared at her in astonishment. "You have another house _here_ as well?" Etienne asked incredulously. Proudspire Manor alone must have cost a small fortune, and that wasn't including the upkeep. If she had another house here, it would have to be a shack.

"Here, and in Riften as well. They are requirements for being a Thane."

Etienne could only stare at her in complete disbelief. Though his knowledge of her before his capture had been limited to word of mouth, he'd never imagined she would possess such wealth. How had he _not_ heard that she owned property in Riften?

"More importantly, my house _here_ holds some of my preferred weapons. Solitude gets too much through traffic from the ships, and too many characters of questionable integrity. It's too risky to leave them there," Aneira explained, stretching her arms high over her head. Etienne stared at her with an eyebrow cocked, waiting for the usual jab at his profession. She didn't seem to notice, and the remark surprisingly didn't come. "We've got to pick up speed after this, and we've still got to travel lightly, so," Aneira reached down to pull up a small, lightly tanned pack from the floor of the carriage, "you had best eat your fill now."

She tossed Etienne the pack. He caught it lightly and placed it on his lap. The leather felt cold on his hands, and he opened it tentatively. Inside was what appeared to be chunks of bread, an apple, and some dark strips of dried meat. Venison, most likely. Aneira retrieved another sack from the floor and proceeded to bite into the chewy meat, washing down each bite with a mouthful of apple or bread. Etienne followed her example and chewed, grateful for the protein. Aneira also produced a wine bottle that she'd emptied and refilled with water, which they shared between them.

"It's good to see you eating healthily. Truthfully, I'd rather you could stick to the soups for a while longer, but those would be awkward to carry on horses." Etienne snorted at the image of some poor beast carrying a pot of soup on one side. "At any rate, you might have time to eat at the house. Lydia is likely up and cooking." Not caring who Lydia was, his stomach growled at the thought of more warm food.

As the carriage approached the Whiterun stables and the familiar scent of hay filled his nostrils, Etienne wiped the last crumbs of bread from his mouth. Aneira brushed her hands off and stood the moment the carriage came to a halt, hopping down and landing carefully in front of a guard.

"Good Morning, Dragonborn. What brings you around so early?"

Aneira laughed lightly, shifting the large rucksack on her shoulders. "Nothing of great interest. Always places to go, people to see."

The guard folded his arms across his chest, turning his helmeted head to Etienne as he leapt out of the cart. "And this one? He with you?" The suspicious tone did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Etienne fought the urge to glare. _Is the word "thief" written on my forehead?_

"He is. This is my latest traveling companion. We met in Haafingar." Aneira explained as she waltzed past the burly Nord, gesturing for Etienne to do the same. Aneira marched across Whiterun's defensive walkway like she owned it, and when they reached the great wooden gate it was opened without hesitation. The guards each inclined their heads as they passed. An imperial blacksmith looked up from her work to greet Aneira with a smile.

She stopped to knock on the door of a two story house, knocking four times in quick succession as she slid a key into the lock. Etienne heard rapid footsteps approaching as Aneira opened the door, revealing a dark haired Nord.

"My Thane!"

"Good Morning, Lydia," Aneira said, striding into the house and setting her bag on the floor near a blazing fire pit.

"I didn't think you would return for some time!" The woman, apparently Lydia, exclaimed. "Are you well? Was your mission successful?" She noticed Etienne coming slowly into the house. "Who is this?"

Aneira had already disappeared into a room at the back of the house. "Etienne Rarnis. He will be accompanying me to Riften shortly."

Lydia looked between the entrance at the back and Etienne standing awkwardly near the fire. His jaw began to crack open in a yawn, and he covered it hastily. Lydia's eyes narrowed.

"It's eight in the morning! You traveled through the night again, didn't you?" Lydia accused as she strode into room behind Aneira.

"Of course not. We slept in a carriage." Aneira quipped happily.

Etienne sat down before the fire, carefully smelling the contents of the cooking spit.

"My Thane- _Aneira_ , that isn't good enough! You can't expect to ride to Riften like this. Have you even eaten?"

The Dragonborn's voice was too quiet for him to hear at that point, though he thought he caught the phrase "Yes, mother dear."

* * *

The house was comfortable, with a warm fire blazing, ordinary wooden furniture, and a cooking pot that filled the rooms with delicious smells. At the moment, Lydia was hunched over it, carefully stirring fresh applesauce. Every so often, he saw her eyes shift back to where he sat, eagerly striping a chicken leg of its meat.

Aneira had left him at the house to relax before they headed for Riften, but so far the awkward tension between himself and the housecarl made rest difficult. Still, it was nice to have a warm fire and a hot meal in his hands.

Lydia had managed to convince the Dragonborn that she needed to at least stop by the Companions and Dragonsreach and give them word of her whereabouts. She'd also said she was going to stock up on some more potions for them at an alchemist's shop.

So that left Etienne sitting at her table eating breakfast with an armored Nord who had no idea who or what he was.

"How long until we have to leave, do you think?" Etienne inquired, glancing at Lydia by the fire pit.

She took a moment to respond. "I'm uncertain, but the Companions are a rowdy bunch. No doubt she'll be delayed for at least a little while." Etienne nodded before returning to his meal. Lydia chose to continue conversation now that he'd started it. "She said she found you in Haafingar. Why are you now accompanying her to Riften?"

Etienne paused with his teeth halfway through the tender meat. Jordis and Aneira knew enough about his stay in Haafingar. He wasn't interested in sharing it with anyone else. Taking the bite of chicken and chewing slowly, he thought of a convincing story to give the housecarl that Aneira could corroborate.

"Aneira… helped me out of a nasty situation. I owe her a debt, and plan to pay it." Tossing the bone into the fire, he casually added, "I don't leave debts unsettled."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "She seems to make a habit of showing up when people need her. Most just give her a bag of gold. Although," she paused to grab a bowl on the table next to her, "I suppose a few are so grateful they pledge loyalty to her. In extreme circumstances." Lydia paused, the obvious question of what service Aneira had done for him lingering unpleasantly in the air.

"She requested my expertise in her next mission. After her generosity, it would have been impolite to say no." Etienne accepted the bowl of yellow applesauce, carefully eating it and silencing the conversation once again.

Lydia didn't speak again until she commented on the speed with which he ate the applesauce. He grumbled, but she only laughed and refilled his bowl.

Watching the yellow mush slide into the bowl, Etienne was struck by a disturbing thought. He clenched his fists tightly for a moment before taking the bowl back. Carefully, he lifted the spoon to try to eat. The food was good. The fire was good. His armor was good. Lydia and Jordis were good-

He abruptly cut off that thought. He was on a mission to rescue someone with the Dragonborn. There was no time to think about other things like how long it had been since-

_Dammit._

He was laughing with strangers and sharing their homes and food as if everything in his life was fine. As if he hadn't spent weeks in squalor without a shred of compassion bestowed upon him. As if he hadn't spent his days being whipped and stabbed and burned and shocked and-

He choked abruptly on the smooth substance, breaking out in a sweat. The bowl shook in his hands as Lydia stared at him with wide eyes.

"Sir? What is wrong-?"

"Nothing!" Etienne choked, forcing the sweet sauce down his throat before he threw up on the floor.

Shaking slightly, he set the bowl aside and rose to his feet, heading for the door. The housecarl sprung to her feet to follow as he wrenched the door open, and he listened to her metal footsteps as he strode out the door. He looked around as the sunlight momentarily blinded him. The sound of metal clashing met his ears, and he gave a startled look to his left.

The damn blacksmith was hammering on a piece of armor. That was all.

Lydia came behind him, laying a hand on his arm to turn him around. Etienne pulled quickly out of her grasp, looking back up the hill to the plaza. "I'll be back," he muttered before setting off.

He heard her following behind him, keeping a careful distance. Etienne turned sharply in the plaza, ignoring the calls of the vendors and the looks from the guards. Soon enough, he reached his destination. Luckily for him, Aneira was coming back down the stairs.

She came to his side, a concerned look on her face as she placed a hand on his shoulder. Without saying a word, healing magic flowed around him, and Etienne gave a sigh of relief as the shakiness faded.

"I went to the alchemy shop first," she said quietly. "I was just returning to the house to pack. Are you well?"

He swallowed before answering. "Just a touch of dizziness, I suppose."

Aneira's lips pressed together, but she did not push the issue, and with Lydia trailing behind them, she led him back to the house.

* * *

An hour later, he was sitting on a horse, securing his feet in the stirrups beside Aneira.

"Alright, Etienne." Aneira turned back to look at him. "Let's see how well a thief can ride." Snapping the reins, he took off after her, and they sped away in a cloud of dust on the plains.


	10. Arm Yourself

Lake Honrich glowed in the afternoon sun as a few clouds drifted lazily toward Morrowwind. The wind caused a light ripple across the water as the Dragonborn tied their horses away from the road in the trees.

"Wouldn't it be safer to separate them somewhat? That way if one gets stolen or eaten you don't lose both?"

Aneira cast Etienne a small glance as she finished a knot around her Palomino's neck.

"Technically, Frost is already stolen, although at this point I consider him a gift for services rendered."

"Rendered to whom?" Etienne inquired, taking a bite out of a sweet red apple.

"Maven."

Etienne spit out the bits of apple, choking slightly in horror.

"What do you mean 'technically stolen' from Maven? Are you out of your damn mind?" He sputtered, hurriedly wiping his lip.

Aneira shrugged. "We made arrangements for me to steal Frost as bait for a different thief. Long story short, he attacked me when I refused to hand him over. I dispatched with him, and Maven never asked me to give Frost back." Aneira paused and nodded to Etienne's borrowed black mare. "Honestly, I doubt I'd be able to separate those two now anyway." Etienne looked between the two horses, standing nose to nose and nuzzling gently. "Who am I to tear apart young love?" Aneira gave Frost one last pat before striding away, a leather pack slung over her shoulder.

"You are aware that Frost is a purebred, right?" Etienne asked skeptically, eyeing the mare dubiously. "You could breed him with any horse in Skyrim."

"Yes, I've read his papers. It hardly matters. Oriel is who he wants."

"What's her background?" Etienne inquired, glancing back at the black. Her coat was shiny, he supposed, and her legs were strong.

"No idea," Aneira quipped, bending over to pluck a blue flower.

Etienne sputtered slightly as he tactfully looked away from her angled form. "What do you mean you have no idea? You bought a horse without any papers?" He looked aghast at Frost and Oriel, as she was apparently named. Who bought a horse with no history?

"Her previous master didn't have them on him when he attacked me near the Rift border."

Etienne turned to look at her sharply, seeing only her expressionless profile.

"What, uh," he began, unsure whether or not pursuing this conversation was a wise choice of action, "why did he attack you?"

"No idea," Aneira said matter-of-factly, "I was just walking along the border looking for a fort when out of nowhere a Nord came flying at me." Her expression darkened slightly. "His screams of 'Skyrim for the Nords' did little to help him against my skill in both magicka and sword play." Etienne chose not to comment as they moved forward. It wasn't like he hadn't seen her skill in battle. "I found Oriel standing not far from the official border pass, underfed and exhausted. I led her deeper into the woods and hid her with a supply of apples and water. When I came back the next day she was still there. The owner of Riften stables is a friend and helped nurse her back to health."

Aneira didn't continue, and Etienne was left wondering what she'd done with her attacker. He felt a swell of gratitude that he hadn't been a thief on the road when she went past.

Aneira then flashed him a smile, though the coolness in her blue eyes had not completely diminished. "Shortly afterwards I came back with Frost, and the rest, as they say is history." Etienne gave her a small smile, feeling a chill run up his spine at her expression. In the next instant, her previous disposition had returned, and she smiled while tossing him a red apple.

* * *

"Can't tell you how many times we've busted into Honeyside through the back door," Etienne said good-naturedly, leaning against the wooden railing of Aneira's back deck. "Think this is my first time with an actual key."

Aneira sputtered for a moment before turning to give him a strangled look, torn between humor and disapproval. "You're certainly chipper for someone who doesn't want to be here," she muttered before sighing in relief as the lock clicked.

"Must be the warm Rift weather." Etienne sighed, looking out over the lake. Cold as it was, the afternoon sun had left it glistening, the few chunks of ice glowing like pearls on the water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just gone out for a swim in Lake Honrich.

Aneira scoffed, pushing open the door. "Whatever you say, Etienne," she said, easing the door open carefully. Sighing in relief, she marched inside, casually dropping her bag next to a large double bed. "My housecarl Iona isn't here, thankfully, or else we'd never get into the city undetected."

Etienne hurried after Aneira as she descended the stairs, seeing her searching in shelves upon shelves of potions. "Your housecarl can't be trusted?" Etienne headed past her to glance into an enchanting room, eyeing a steel greatsword mounted near the entrance. The blade glowed with an eerie purple light.

"She was assigned to me after I broke up a skooma ring north of here. The operation was using the Riften Warehouse to get the stuff into the city. Laila and Maven could never seem to do anything about it, and I'm not convinced Maven wasn't pocketing kickbacks from Sarthis Idren, even if she didn't appear upset that the operation was caput. Either way, suddenly I was being summoned to the Keep and proclaimed Thane, so long as I had the coin to buy property in the city." Aneira shook her head slightly. "None of the assistance and generosity I'd shown around the city mattered until I came back with bags of moon sugar and skooma bottles and my armor covered in blood. Then, Laila decided my deeds should be credited to her court." Aneira picked up a briarheart from her shelf and crushed it over her alchemy table. "Sometimes I wonder if she's even self-aware."

Etienne shifted away from her volatile preparation, gazing warily at the bubbling liquids. "Self-aware?" He questioned, cautiously examining a bottle of poison.

"Meaning it occurred to me after the fact that Laila may actually be naïve enough to believe Maven isn't the puppeteer controlling Riften's strings. I've spoken to her a few times. I think she _actually_ believes Riften is in fine shape. Anyway, since then my movement within the city and hold has been monitored. Iona has never accompanied me outside the city. How can I trust her? Everything I've told her has been related to Laila or Maven." Aneira smirked a little. "The stories aren't exactly accurate."

Etienne nodded slowly, carefully maneuvering himself into the enchanting room. "Where is she then, if not guarding your household?"

Aneira gave a huff of laughter from the other room. "I sent a letter while in Riverwood. She was instructed to go to Shore's Stone for some ebony ore. She shouldn't be back before nightfall. We'll be gone by then."

Etienne nodded, hesitantly feeling a set of elven daggers, both hissing with enchantments.

"You're welcome to any daggers or swords that suit your fancy. I'd prefer if you left the weapons on the plaques alone. They have sentimental value, you see."

Etienne carefully hooked the daggers onto his waist, avoiding the blades hissing with frost and lightning.

"Shock for their magic, and ice for their skin." Etienne looked at her in the corner of his eye. She grinned before corking a white liquid. "At least you know how to prepare yourself."

He said nothing, suddenly eyeing the mannequin in the corner. It was set with a full ensemble of elven gear. His fist clenched around the hilt of the frost enchanted dagger as a wave of hatred spread over him. "When do we leave?" Etienne asked quietly, running the dagger along the armor. It was weakest under the arm.

"After sunset."

The dagger slid back into its sheath with a soft _clink_.


	11. City of Thieves

He could have done without the stares.

Dirge had started cracking his knuckles before they even reached the ramp. Tonilia had carefully positioned a dagger along the railing behind her. Delvin had started twisting a small vial of poison between his fingers. The rest of the crowd had simply turned and glared at the two of them. Brynjolf seemed to be the only one who wasn't openly hostile. He instead leaned calmly against the bar, sipping a bottle of Blackbriar Reserve. His eyebrow was quirked in interest.

Aneira had made to stride past Dirge without a word at first, until he'd stopped her with a firm grip on her left arm. To her credit, she didn't seemed particularly unnerved, merely glancing up at him and requesting that he remove his hand.

"If you're here to make trouble you'll get more than just my fist on your arm," the bodyguard ground out.

Etienne moved to lift the leather helmet off his face, hoping his presence would lessen the threat, when Aneira beat him to action.

"Oh, I see. Well, fortunately for you," she observed in a honeyed voice, "I'm not here to fight today." Aneira wrenched her arm free of Dirge's grip before allowing her shoulder to bump into him, brushing past him and into the light of the tavern. The bouncer snarled viciously before righting himself.

Etienne hurriedly placed himself between the Dragonborn and Dirge, hastily undoing the straps on his helmet. He had _told_ her not to display hostility to Maul's brother. The beast was practically a chained pit wolf. Of course the first thing she did was challenge his authority. After fighting their way past a few common thugs that littered the sewers and had refused to let them pass in peace, Etienne was desperately hoping that the Guild members would be more reasonable.

"Easy, big guy. She's not here to start anything," Etienne declared loudly, backing away and pulling his leather helmet off. "She's with me, alright?"

Dirge took a moment to glance at him, curling his lip into a scowl. It was only after a few seconds had passed that he began to gape at him, confusion marring his features. "Etienne? But you're supposed to be dead!"

He frowned at Dirge, cautiously leaning away from him. "What does 'supposed to be' mean?" Etienne demanded, coming to stand beside Aneira.

They both faced opposite direction in the tavern, Etienne watching Dirge at the ramp and Tonilia at her table. Dirge kept glancing from him to Aneira, pointing at Etienne slowly.

"Maul said you were good as dead a few weeks ago. That's why you disappeared from the tunnels after getting back from a big job without collecting your cut. Said we shouldn't bother looking for ya in any of the prisons, either."

Etienne's eyes narrowed at him. He felt Aneira tense slightly, her hand poised at her side. "Yeah, well, guess that's not the case, is it?"

Dirge did not look appeased. "Maul said it, and I believe him, even if he couldn't tell me why. If he said you were a dead man," Dirge growled, taking a dagger from his hip, "then you oughta be. He hears everything from Maven."

"Well, your brother was obviously misinformed!" Etienne snapped back, stepping to his left and away from Aneira. Angling himself slightly, he saw that the other Guild members in the Flagon were all standing, though no one else had drawn a blade. Etienne felt a shiver of apprehension crawl up his spine. Leave it to the two brainless meatheads to cause trouble.

Brynjolf stepped away from the counter smoothly, walking slowly in their direction. "Well, Etienne, we're certainly all glad t' see you back." He stopped a few feet away from them both, eyeing Aneira curiously. "However, Dirge does have a point. Why would Maven tell us you weren't coming back alive if here you stand," Brynjolf paused to look him over, "apparently in one piece?" Etienne chose not to reply, glancing at Aneira for his next move. She continued to watch Brynjolf with a stoic expression. His thoughts raced while Aneira did nothing, and the Guild waited for an answer. "From our side, you must admit it looks like she wasn't… particularly sorry to see you gone. As if you'd done something to offend her." Brynjolf spoke calmly, but the threat hung in the air. "If we were to welcome you back when Maven wanted you gone, it certainly wouldn't be good for us."

Etienne scowled at his comrade. "Well, you can all relax, because I haven't done anything to piss off Maven or her bloody family!"

Brynjolf raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Then why tell Mercer that you were dead?"

Etienne stood up straighter, throwing his arms out from his sides. "Probably because she knew the Thalmor waltzed into Riften and abducted me!" Etienne bit out, pleased by the surprised glances exchanged by a few people behind Brynjolf.

Brynjolf's calculating expression dropped, his expression changing to one of shock. "You're saying that the Thalmor have had you for the last few weeks?"

"Obviously!" Etienne retorted, feeling the phantom shiver of the knife in his side again. "And our precious benefactor knew the whole time! She practically offered me up as a sacrificial lamb for them!"

"But why would Maven do that, Etienne?" Delvin inquired, rising from his table. He came to stand next to Brynjolf, arms folded across his chest. "What would the Thalmor even want with ya?"

Before Etienne could respond, Aneira finally chose to participate in the conversation.

"They wanted information concerning an old man living in the sewers." All eyes turned to her. She didn't look away from Brynjolf for more than a second, glancing surreptitiously at Etienne. "He's in his sixties or seventies, roughly. Intelligent, and highly skilled in magic. Theoretically, he's been down there for quite some time."

No one spoke for a few moments, until Vekel finally spoke up from behind the bar. "Hey, Etienne. Who is this you brought down here?"

"She's the Dragonborn," Brynjolf said softly, staring unflinchingly at Aneira. She smirked slightly under the helmet.

"The Dragonborn!" Vex stood up, her chair tipping backwards and cracking against the floor. "You brought the damn Dragonborn down here?"

Aneira cocked her head lightly, eyeing Vex's enraged face. Sweat broke out across Etienne's brow when Vex unsheathed her dagger, coming up to flank Brynjolf with Delvin.

"Look, she just wants to find this guy. This doesn't have to turn into a-"

"Do you have any idea how many recruits she's killed?" Vex demanded, thrusting her ebony dagger in Aneira's direction. "Of course you do, you haven't been gone _that_ long! We've lost men in every hold because of this bitch!"

"How is that my fault?" Aneira quietly inquired, leaning against a wooden column. She crossed her arms lightly. "If you pick a fight with someone stronger than you, you've got no one to blame but yourself when they take you down." Vex snarled, moving forward when Brynjolf seized her left arm. He yanked her backwards, keeping a firm grip on her upper arm. "Furthermore, I always gave them a chance to walk away. They never took it." Aneira's voice grew steely. "Maybe you should tell your friends that anyone who comes at me and mine with a knife will be given no quarter."

Brynjolf stared at her impassively, refusing to release Vex even after she stopped pulling on his fist. Silence reigned for a few long moments, broken only by the drops of water hitting the lake and the groan of the tunnels. Finally, Brynjolf looked back at Etienne.

"Your story is that the Thalmor came here, abducted you for information about someone in the Ratway, and that Maven knew what had happened to you?"

Etienne chewed the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to make a sarcastic reply.

"Yes," he bit out.

"Maven's connections to the southern governments make her the obvious answer," Aneira began. "Even if they didn't ask her permission, someone most likely let her know they were coming. She may not have personally handed him over, but there is little doubt that she knew about it." No one had an answer to that. "Now, I've had enough chatter, personally." Aneira stood up straight, stepping away from the crates and toward Etienne. "All I want to do is go into the sewers, find the Thalmor's target, and be on my merry way. No mess, no clean-up for you to deal with." No one in the bar moved, except to exchange a few glances. "However, if you'd like to do this the hard way, why don't you ask Etienne what I did to the Thalmor who got in my way?" Aneira turned to him, smiling in a sickly sweet manner. It made his skin crawl. "Or," she continued, turning back to Brynjolf, "you could ask Brynjolf here to reenact our last encounter. When I took down two sabrecats at the same time," she grinned, "with nothing but a dagger and some destruction magic."

Brynjolf said nothing for a moment, as if considering her words. Finally, he gave a _hmph_ of laughter before giving everyone an order to stand down. Relief flooded Etienne's system.

"You're as feisty as ever, lass," Brynjolf began, moving forward to stand directly in front of her. Etienne stiffened slightly when the red head leaned toward the Dragonborn's face. "Believe me when I say that I remember your skills very well." Aneira did not shy away from Brynjolf's nearness or his lilting voice. She tilted her head, keeping eye contact with the large Nord. "Be that as it may, anyone hiding out in the Ratway would be paying us good money to keep them hidden," Brynjolf explained softly. "If we were to let someone go looking for them, it would be bad for business, you see."

Aneira laughed softly.

"You're a sensible businessman, Brynjolf," she sighed, raising to fingers two his chest. "So you should know full well that they are far worse things for business," Aneira pushed him backwards, widening the gap between them, "than letting me go down there." She placed her hands on her hips. "Or do you not consider the dragon menace relevant to your operations?"

Brynjolf rubbed under his chin as if pondering her words. Aneira raised her left eyebrow in challenge. Eventually, he smiled and held up his hands in surrender, turning back to the bar.

"The lass goes where she pleases in the sewers tonight. Everyone else, go back to your business."

Vex let out a shout of indignation, glaring at Aneira as she casually strode over to where Etienne stood. "We're just supposed to take her word that she won't interfere with our business? The bitch who's been screwing with our operations for months!"

Brynjolf turned to Vex with his mead back in his hands.

"If you want to take her on alone, be my guest."

Vex glared at him furiously for a few moments before glancing over at Aneira. She slammed her dagger back into its sheath before stomping back over to her chair. Righting it, she sat back down, glowering in their direction.

"Don't think you're off the hook," she called to Etienne. "Your story is flimsy at best. Don't think we won't ask Maven how she feels about you being back in town."

Etienne stared back at her coolly, but Aneira's hand on his arm prevented his response.

"Alright, you. Show me how to get around down there."

Etienne nodded to the door past the bar.

"That's your entrance. But it's anyone's guess who or what is waiting for us down there. The psychos and thugs don't take kindly to trespassers."

Aneira adjusted her helmet before heading to the door. Showing a grim expression, she yanked open the door by the grimy handle.


	12. Taste of Vengeance

They crouched low on the highest level of the Ratway, listening intently to the sounds of the tunnels.

It had taken Etienne's eyes a few moments to adjust to the change in light as they took quiet steps into the musky sewers of the vaults. He had moved to speak to Aneira, to ask her to cast her candlelight spell, when her hand had abruptly covered his mouth.

She had dragged them both to the ground, muttering _Shh_ so quietly he'd barely heard it. She didn't remove her hand for a few moments, and so they had stayed still, listening to the water flowing through the tunnels.

He finally heard it to their left and below them. It was the distinctive creak of metal armor. They were not alone.

Aneira brought her mouth close to his ear. "I'm about to use a detect life spell. You may feel it upon you. Do not react. I must see where they are."

Etienne nodded in her hand. He felt her arm reach behind her and carefully draw her bow silently except for the barest creak of her armor. So slowly he could barely see her move, Aneira brought her right hand up toward the wall they crouched against. He saw the light appear in her hand, and sure enough he felt the faint, creeping sensation of eyes watching him.

Etienne flinched slightly as the metal armor shifted again. If they felt her magic, and used a detect life of their own, it was going to turn ugly fast. Moving so quickly she was nothing but a blur in the dark, Aneira rolled out of their hiding spot and launched an arrow into the dim light. The cry of pain that echoed through the sewers was a strong indicator that she had hit her target.

Etienne slid along the wall to face the tunnels, carefully pulling out his lightning dagger and preparing his left hand for a fire spell. Aneira rushed across the rickety wooden bridge without hesitation, drawing her own dagger. Positioning herself behind the now staggering body, she swung her left arm across their torso, still clutching her bow tightly. She brought her right arm across their neck in a clean movement, and Etienne heard the choked sound of a slit throat.

The body hit the ground in a crumpled heap, but before Etienne could relax, he heard the sound of footsteps racing along the lower level, and a shout of "Blade's agent" echoed back to him

Aneira ducked into the passageway, sheathing her knife and whipping another arrow out of her quiver. Etienne rushed to her side, positioning himself behind her and facing the bridge. Memory told him there were at least two levels below them, on either of which the other Thalmor might be lurking.

"Don't move again, I'm using another detection." Aneira whispered quickly, holding the arrow and bow in her left hand while her right glowed with a blue light.

He heard her armor and helmet shift as she glanced around them, trying to see where the next attacker might be. Etienne looked down for a moment at the body and blood surrounding their feet. It had been one of the wizards that she had taken out.

 _Good_ , he thought with fierce satisfaction. _Let them lose some members that might be worth something_.

"This way," she hissed, nudging his arm. They crept through the narrow tunnel toward a lit room, where Aneira cut neatly through a door trap. They walked past the swinging mace quickly, entering a recently inhabited room with a fire pit, stump chairs, and a bed in the corner. The previous occupants lay dead, their torsos bearing the telltale signs of a sword.

Aneira placed herself against the corner wall to their right, angling herself against a wooden column to peer around the corner. They both heard the sound of rushing footsteps in the distance. She started to speak without facing him.

"There's a closed door along that wall. Those footsteps are below us. This is our chance to have an advantage over them. If you know any defensive spells, I suggest you use them now," she ordered quickly, notching her arrow and leaning against the wall. She took a deep breath as the steps drew closer.

Rushing to the door, she drew up her bow, motioning for him to come closer with her head. He followed her, quickly casting oakflesh.

"When I give the word, pull it open. Stay behind the door with your daggers ready."

He nodded, wrapping his fingers around the metal ring. The footsteps sounded close now, most likely only seconds away.

" _Now_!" Aneira hissed.

Etienne wrenched the door open as quickly as he could, shielding himself from any attacks with the heavy wood. He heard Aneira's arrow whiz past the entrance, followed by an enraged cry from below.

Looking past the door, he saw Aneira skip backwards, pulling out another arrow and releasing it in a less than three seconds. It hit the golden clad elf that came barreling through the door, but only enough to pierce the armor below her right breast. The elf raised a conjured sword over her head as she charged at Aneira, missing completely when the Dragonborn neatly dodged to her right.

Etienne gripped both his daggers, ready to attack her from behind when a second Alter bearing a sword came through the door, one hand desperately cupping her neck as blood poured onto her armor. She paused at the entrance to watch her comrade, healing herself frantically. Etienne saw the broken piece of arrow sticking out between her fingers.

Grabbing the metal handle once again, he pulled back and then slammed the thick door into the elf, eliciting a deep shout of pain as she toppled to the ground. Her conjured sword vanished with a _hiss_.

With little hesitation, Etienne went over to her, turning her onto her back and sitting on her stomach. She had only a moment to struggle before he swiftly brought down his lightning enchanted knife. It plunged into the left side of her armor under her arm, where he twisted and shook it until it came loose again. Blood spurted out in a hideous spray, one that looked horribly familiar to the wounds he had suffered only days ago at the hands of these monsters.

With a cry of rage, he brought the knife down again, slamming it into her golden left eye. The Altmer half gasped, half shouted for a third time as her face pooled with blood, twitching in great spasms as he pulled the knife out yet again and slammed it back into her face.

"How's it feel, you stupid bit- _How does it feel?_ " Etienne bellowed, hardly able to get the words out in his fury. He tugged on the knife, adding more force when it became stuck. The elf made a sickening gagging noise before falling silent. He sat there for a few moments, raising his left hand to knock against her helmet with his fist. " _Huh? Did that hurt?_ " She did not react.

Etienne breathed heavily, pulling the knife out with a final yank. The body beneath him did not move, save for the crimson blood bubbling up toward him.

Standing up quickly, he swallowed, fighting the urge to kick her body down the tunnel ramp.

 _It was over too quickly_ , he thought. He'd always preferred to end things quickly, before this. He hadn't enjoyed the nasty business of violence. Looking down at himself, he saw that his right hand was covered in blood, and that it had gotten splashed on his torso. The smell surrounded him, and he was certain it had gotten on his face. It didn't bother him nearly as much as it used to. Feeling a bit light-headed, he wondered if being so used to the sight and feel of your own blood made you more immune to the sight of others' as well.

A hand landed on his shoulder abruptly, cutting off his morbid thoughts and he whipped around, bringing the dagger up again.

Aneira stood beside him, her face wary as she leaned carefully away from him. He panted heavily, willing his heart rate to go down. Slowly, he lowered the knife and looked past her to the Thalmor lying on the other side of the room. Her body was face-down in the stones, and the pool of blood around her was steadily growing larger.

When he turned back to her, Aneira was still watching him cautiously. Without a word, she reached out, holding a scrap of cloth toward him. He flinched away for a moment, unsure of what to do or say, before taking the cloth and moving to wipe his dagger off.

Aneira placed her fingers on his wrist with a small sound, preventing the cloth from touching the knife. "Your face, Etienne," she ordered quietly, gesturing toward him with her free hand. "Clean your face off first."

He swallowed again before doing as she said, carefully sliding the cloth under his helmet. With one eye still open he saw her look away from him to stare at the Thalmor lying not far from their feet. She said nothing, though he thought her lips thinned slightly and her eyes closed in clear revulsion.

Finished with his face, he quickly cleaned off his dagger and put it away. Belatedly, he noticed that her bow and dagger were already secured, and wondered how long she had been ready to move on before approaching him.

Aneira turned back to face him, taking the cloth and tossing it on the ground. "These won't be the last of them. More are probably hiding somewhere. Detect life showed some more people moving around down there."

Etienne nodded lightly, more preoccupied with keeping his eyes above the warm body lying next to them than listening to her words.

"Hey," she said quietly, but sharply, hitting his arm lightly with her hand. He stared at her quickly. She stared at him, a strange expression on her face. The dim light made it difficult to see her very well, but her expression did not look pleased. Aneira seemed to want to say more, but after a few moments of silence she simply shook her head slightly and looked away. Sighing, she stepped over the body and headed down the tunnel. "Let's go."

Etienne made to follow after her, but a sick impulse forced him to look at the dead Altmer again. The blood had formed a series of puddles in the holes on her bludgeoned face. His breathing became shallow as he forced himself to look away from the scene. His right hand fisted around the dagger handle sheathed at his side, his fingers clenching and unclenching spastically. Gulping thickly, he stepped over her and hurried to catch up with Aneira, turning around a circular corner just before she disappeared into the tunnel's next dark entryway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos really mean a lot!


	13. Addled Minds

Light shone down on the grates surrounding them, creating a patchwork of darkness and gleaming wet stone. Aneira wasted no time in examining the area, casting her candlelight spell and searching every corner.

Etienne shied away from her spell, trying to avoid looking at his hands. The Altmer's blood was steadily drying on his skin and the fur under his leather gauntlets. There had been too much to wipe away, but now the crawling sensation on his palms made him wish for another cloth.

Etienne swallowed again, trying to rid himself of the urge to be sick. He tried to focus on Aneira, on what she was doing, but the image of the Altmer was burned into his eyes. The image of the room filled with the bodies of the beggars that the Thalmor had gutted sometime before he and Aneira had arrived wasn't pleasant.

He followed the Dragonborn when she turned another corner, heading down an exposed path that gave them a view of the different levels. She paused for a moment to exam the next room, turning slowly with her ball of light. All he saw was evidence that nearly everyone in the vaults had been torn apart by the Thalmor. The body of a poorly clothed thug lay strewn across a workbench, while another lay beheaded across an anvil.

Etienne choked back a hysterical laugh, realizing that his worry about the locals had been for nothing. The Thalmor had taken care of everything for him and Aneira.

Aneira didn't seem eager to linger among the dead, because a few moments later they were moving again. Her light was hardly necessary anymore, now that the tunnels had lit torches.

A few more recently dead bodies cropped up as they walked, dirty lowlifes the Thalmor had decided weren't worth living. He refused to look at them, focusing on Aneira's back much like he had during their escape from the Embassy.

They moved quickly now, Aneira's detect life popping up occasionally as they traversed the tunnels. Etienne noticed that every time she cast it, her head glanced downward.

 _There might be more of them beneath us_ , he thought, and pondered the notion. Did he _want_ to find more Thalmor in here? His mind presented a storm of answers. The desire to never set eyes on another agent was strong. That part of him wanted to crawl into the nearest corner at the sight of them. That part remembered the feeling of terror and helplessness that eclipsed everything else when they woke him up each day. There was another part of him, however, that wanted to find every single one of them and take a war hammer to their heads. Or a battleaxe to their necks. Either way, that part of Etienne wanted their blood. He wanted them to suffer exactly as he had suffered. And stabbing the bitch a few minutes before had not quenched that bloodlust.

 _No_ , he though with a mix of callous disregard and horror, _it only made it worse_.

Etienne was so caught up in his savage thoughts that he nearly slammed into Aneira when they reached another door. She glanced back at him for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. He felt himself flush with embarrassment.

"Sorry," he mumbled, fiddling with the leather gauntlets again.

Aneira said nothing in reply and turned back to the door. "Any idea what's through here?"

Etienne looked around, glancing back up the slope they had walked down. "Lowest level of the tunnels. We call it the Warrens." He looked her in the eye. "Anyone hiding out down there is crazy, or wanted. Usually both."

Aneira turned back to the door, reaching for the handle.

"Wait," Etienne asked, taking a hold of her wrist. "How many people can you see down there?"

Aneira didn't hesitate, casting the spell once more and turning herself around completely, causing Etienne to release her hand. "Only four, by my count." She looked at him, throwing a light against the wall instead of hovering over her head. Clearly illuminated, he could see one eyebrow was furrowed, the other no doubt quirked under her helmet. "Why?"

Etienne licked his lips before responding.

"Okay, let's say that one of them is your old man. That leaves three people we may have to fight. And-"

"They aren't Thalmor," Aneira cut him off, turning back to the door. "They've hardly moved since they came within reach of the spell. If they were looking for him or trying to kill Esbern, they'd be moving around at least a little."

She gave him no time to respond before yanking the door open, exposing them to natural light again. She crept forward carefully, crouching low and stepping lightly. Etienne mimicked her pose, sliding against the other wall. Aneira reached a rusted door and jiggled the handle, huffing in frustration when it didn't budge. She pulled a lock pick out of her boot, moving swiftly to the other side of the door. As she worked the lock, Etienne heard a noise traveling through the chamber. Both he and Aneira froze.

"Inkpot, stone, bucket, book, knife…"

It was a woman's voice, raspy, with a definite touch of age. Etienne looked at Aneira, who slowly inserted the lock pick, her eyes fixed on something in the next room. The voice repeated its list once again while Aneira worked the door.

The lock gave a click fairly quickly, and Aneira carefully moved past the door. Etienne could still hear the woman's babbling, and clearly Aneira could too, as she moved toward a door along the wall. Raising a finger to her lips for him to be quiet, Aneira carefully pulled open the door. Inside was the hunched figure of an old woman, sitting on her rear and bent low over something. Her back was to the door.

"Inkpot, stone, bucket, book," she muttered, paying no attention to Etienne or Aneira.

"She's mad, Aneira," Etienne said quietly, coming to stand closer to the room. "Just leave her."

Aneira nodded, slowly closing the door again. It thudded loudly against the wall, but the woman didn't stop her mumbling. Backing away, Aneira quickly cast detect life again, moving across the stones toward another door on their level.

When she pulled open the door, Etienne's eyes widened, and his heart jumped. Inside was an old man, sitting calmly on a chair to their right. Etienne looked around the small room, and spotted an Imperial soldier's helmet sitting on a table.

"An Imperial, and a veteran," he whispered excitedly, conscious of the man watching them. "This is him, isn't it?"

Aneira said nothing, looking around before taking a careful step into the dimly lit room.

"Good evening," she said slowly, bowing slightly to the man. He blinked at her slowly. "My name is Aneira," she continued, coming to stand a few feet away from him. Etienne moved into the room as well, going to stand by the table with the helmet.

"Their fires lit up the night, all across Lake Rumare, like stars come to earth." Etienne blinked, eyes flicking to the still Dragonborn. The man sighed wistfully. "It was beautiful, really."

No one moved for a few moments. Aneira cleared her throat before speaking again.

"Whose fires?" The man stared at her, shifting into a more comfortable position on his chair. He did not reply. Aneira glanced at Etienne, eyes a little wide and lips thin. She turned back to the man.

"They were golden, even when they were dead," he went on, eyes drifting away from Aneira. "But their blood was red." He looked Etienne in the eye, "I knew it would be."

Etienne felt a cold, creeping sensation in his veins as the man kept looking at him. Aneira glanced between the two of them, her expression anxious.

"I'm looking for someone," she explained, crouching down to the Imperial's level. He still stared. "He's a very important man, and I need to talk to him." The man tilted his head, regarding her.

"He'll tell you, just ask. You don't even need to ask, he'll tell you anyway."

Aneira did not respond for a few moments, inhaling shakily.

"Who will tell us?"

The man leaned forward slightly, bringing his face nearer to hers. Etienne gripped one of his daggers carefully. "He explained it all to me, before, when I still understood. I don't remember, but," he sighed again, "I still know." Aneira swallowed before standing away from him. She turned to Etienne, keeping her body angled toward the man. She opened her mouth, but the man spoke again. "You don't think there's any hope, do you? I don't. He's right."

Aneira turned to him, making a small noise of frustration or helplessness. Etienne couldn't tell. She put her hands on her hips before addressing the Imperial again.

"I need to find Esbern. Do you understand that?" The man said nothing. "Are you Esbern?" He said nothing, looking back at Etienne. His eyes lingered on the bloody wrist protectors. "Are you a Blade?" Aneira asked, raising her voice slightly. The Imperial didn't even look at her.

Etienne licked his lips before speaking. "Whoever this is," he began, carefully watching Aneira's reaction, "he's not going to be any use to us." Aneira's lips twisted. "But I think it's a fair guess to say this was your man. He's just…" Etienne glanced around their dap surroundings, "been down here too long."

Aneira stared at the seated Imperial, saying nothing for a minute before fiercely shaking her head. "No. No, this isn't him." Aneira walked over to the table, looking at the few possessions the man had laid out.

"How do you know that?" Etienne asked cautiously.

"Esbern is a Nordic name. He's an imperial," she said in a tone of certainty.

"Aneira, he's a bloody war vet hiding out in the Ratway," Etienne sighed in exasperation. "What more do you need?"

"He's describing the siege of the Imperial city!" Aneira snapped, leaning her back against the table and crossing her arms.

"How do you know that? And if so what does it matter?" Etienne questioned, eyeing the helmet again.

"Delphine said that the Blades went into hiding after their numbers were butchered by the Thalmor. She and Esbern got out just before it happened. Delphine went back to Cyrodiil, but Esbern wasn't with her." Aneira shook her head. "There's no way he was in Cyrodiil during the siege. Delphine and he were the only two of their order _left._ He would have contacted her somehow."

Etienne said nothing, not entirely believing her explanation, but wishing to avoid an argument with her. She looked upwards slowly, raising her detect life once again.

"There are two more people in here. I'm not leaving until I speak with both."

She pushed herself away from the table, striding purposefully out of the room. Etienne hurried after her, sparing a last look at the unfortunate man. He watched them leave, and it seemed to Etienne that he was sad to watch them go.

Grimacing, Etienne didn't bother to close the door behind them. A little air circulation wouldn't hurt the man.

Following Aneira up the stairs, he had an unpleasant feeling that he could very well become that man. Alone and senile with addled brains, ranting about the trauma in his life.

His melancholy was interrupted by maniacal laughter drifting out of a caged door, which swung open to reveal an old man in a filthy chef's outfit. He held an axe high over this head.

Before Etienne could even pull his dagger out, the man was blasted with lightning, throwing him back through the door. Aneira calmly placed herself in front of him, fists glowing with purple magic. Gasping, the man staggered to his feet.

"I'm going to eat well tonight, my darling!"

Etienne thought he heard Aneira snarl before she brought her hands together, unleashing a powerful blast of lightning into the man's chest. He couldn't see well in the dim light of the room, but the man's shout of agony and subsequent crash gave him the answer he needed. Aneira strode forward, pulling out her dwarven dagger. He saw her bend over and plunge the dagger down quickly. It was over in a matter of seconds. Aneira stood again, turning toward the door. She paused before leaving, her eyes looking at something Etienne couldn't see. Her eyes close as her head jerked away from the sight. Perturbed, Etienne moved forward to see what was troubling her, but she pushed past him, shutting the gate behind her with a loud _clang!_

She paused next to Etienne, her eyes fixed on something behind him. Her eyes narrowed before she strode forward. Turning, Etienne saw what had caught her eye. At the end of the platform was a huge black door, well-crafted and heavily bolted. She walked up to it, examining it from different angles. Aneira's right hand felt along the cracks in the wall, while her left hand felt the rectangular slot in the center. Finally, she knocked. The sound echoed around the chamber, and Etienne braced himself for whatever was hiding behind that door.

The slot opened quickly, and a heavily accented voice yelled out of it.

"Go away!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Appreciate any reviews or feedback!


	14. To Bother with Mercy

He listened to the old Nord's words in disbelief. Denial roared up inside of him, urging him to call this "Esbern" a liar and a fraud and any other like-name of which he could think.

But the man kept speaking about the end of the world as if it would happen tomorrow, or even right at that moment.

As Aneira assured the old man that all was _not_ hopeless, that she was the Dragonborn sent by the Gods themselves, Etienne gaped at her as if she was the most insane of them all.

It had not truly sunk in, for him, precisely what she was. He understood her prowess in battle; that was clearly demonstrable. He understood her quick mind and her combat strategy. The dead Thalmor that littered the Ratway as well as those she'd slaughtered in the Embassy spoke for that. But he'd never seen her do anything near to what Esbern was saying needed to be done. How the hell could one woman, even an incredibly powerful one, be responsible for saving Nirn? From an unholy, immortal creature that consumed not only their bodies but also their souls? How did something even eat a soul? What happened to you then?

His face drained of color even as Esbern began rummaging through his belongings, hurriedly readying himself to depart. What was the point of this, then? Why had he bothered to help the Dragonborn, whatever that even meant, find this raving old man if the Gods had decided it was time for the world to end? Clenching his jaw, he sent a curse up to the Gods for bothering to have pity on him, hanging miserably in that cell. Who cared that he was alive and healthy for a few more days? Apparently they were all living on borrowed time anyway.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes, causing him to blink and jump backwards. Aneira was standing before him, right hand still in front of his face. She was frowning at him, and reached under his helmet to feel his cheeks. Etienne became aware of the sweat clinging to his skin.

He stared at her, feeling an unhealthy combination of disgust and gratitude as she once again administered a healing spell, topping it off with calm.

"Are you well?" Aneira said quietly, eyes darting to watch Esbern behind him.

The effects of her magic loosened his tongue.

"Why did you even bother to save me?" Etienne asked dully, his eyes lidded. Aneira furrowed her eyebrows.

"I don't make a habit of leaving people to die." Etienne scoffed.

"We're all going to die, according to your friend over there," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, "and then our souls are going to be devoured. The Gods have a sick sense of humor."

Aneira's eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. "Why do you say that?" She inquired softly.

"Because I prayed for the first time in my wretched _life_ for mercy in that cell, and after they finally granted it to me I find out the whole reason I was in there being stabbed and burned and damn near killed was because _they_ decided to release Oblivion on the world!" He spat the words out in a rush, reaching over to the table at his right and picking up a dirty tankard. He flung it across the room with a curse, watching it clatter against the wall counter behind Aneira. She did not react to his display. He panted heavily, feeling the beginnings of hateful tears in his eyes. "I begged for them to kill me or free me. Then you came, and I got out, and I thought they were giving me another chance," he brought his right hand to cover his eyes, pushing hard against his lids to force back the moisture. "Turns out the Divines just felt like letting me linger in terror a bit longer until I'm as mad as that Imperial down there."

Aneira didn't say anything, and he finally lowered his hand, keeping his eyes fixed dully on the ground. Ashamed of his tantrum, he shuffled awkwardly, belatedly realizing that he'd shaken off her calming spell in his fury. He saw her bring her hands up, and felt them rest on his shoulders.

"I cannot even begin to understand what the Divines have in store for us. I don't understand why a creature like this… 'World Eater' even exists." Aneira paused, and gripped his armored shoulders tightly. "What I do know is that if we were truly being left to die, I would not have been born this way. I wouldn't have been given these abilities." She scoffed lightly. "Maybe that sounds incredibly self-absorbed and egotistical, but there's truth to it, and it keeps me going." She paused, inhaling deeply. "If Alduin is the dragon from Helgen, and he wants this world, he's not going to get it without a fight." She pulled away from him, and he finally looked up at her. "So," she eyed him, struggling, it seemed, to find the right words, "don't start giving up on everything. The Gods had me find you before it was too late. Maybe the world isn't done with you yet."

Etienne remained silent, staring at her for several moments. Aneira simply clasped his left shoulder in her right hand before striding past him, moving to help Esbern with the pile of books and papers he was throwing together. Etienne watched them, hastily trying to regain control of himself. Esbern began speaking of secrets he couldn't leave, and Etienne struggled to hear the Nord's incessant mumbling when another sound caught his attention.

Wheeling around, he dove to press his ear against the chamber door as the rusty gate Aneira had unlocked banged shut once again.

" _Aneira!"_ Etienne hissed, staring at Esbern's heavily armored door. He backed away, hastily pulling out both daggers.

Aneira came up from behind him, her hand already glowing with her detection spell. Her lips pressed tightly together as her eye roamed beneath them.

"Three, by my count. They're spreading out beneath us. One's going to the stairs." She turned to him, her expression fierce. "Think you've got another surprise door maneuver in you?"

Etienne nodded, gripping his daggers tightly as he moved to the handle.

"Same method. Open in-"

Aneira stopped talking when they heard an agonized scream from outside their hiding spot. Shrill and female, its echoes were still ringing when Aneira shoved Etienne out of the way. She flung open the door, horror coloring her expression as she launched an icy blast into the oncoming Thalmor soldier. It slammed into her chest, earning a stunted cry as the elf stumbled backward. Aneira wasted no time rushing forward, slamming her shoulder into the Altmer on the landing. She gave a surprised grunt before she started to plummet to the lower level, where one of her allies was busy with the mad woman.

Etienne spared Esbern a glance before tucking one of his daggers back into his belt, prepping a blast of fire between his fingers. He edged out the door in time to see Aneira charge a Thalmor wizard, whipping out her dagger in a violent strike that the wizard dodged with a leap. The old mad woman was lying on her side at her door, clutching her left side. It was rapidly darkening with blood.

"No, you can't be here!" Etienne glanced down at stones beneath him, groaning in frustration when he realized one of the elves had approached the war veteran. "I've already killed you over and over again!"

Etienne turned abruptly, realizing that he heard the distressed voice coming up from behind him. He darted into the cell, grateful it was unlocked. Looking to his left, he saw a patch of disturbed flooring, where light from the room below shone through. Going to the ground and peering downward, he saw that the Imperial had drawn his sword and was quickly clashing blades with a purple conjured weapon.

Summoning as much fire as he could, he aimed his hand into the hole. Sweat broke out over his brow from the effort to maintain the fireball, his concentration fixed on holding the blast back until the right moment.

The veteran grunted below him, shoving the elf backward with a strong shove from his sword. Losing sight of them, Etienne quickly extinguished the spell, panting from the effort. He heard their swords slamming into each other below him, moving away from the opening.

Making a hasty decision, Etienne tucked his remaining dagger away and dropped his legs into the hole, hurriedly kicking the few boards that lined it out of the way. Cursing himself for what would undoubtedly be a foolish act, he lowered his body quickly through the hole, gripping the top for a few seconds before allowing himself to drop.

Landing unsteadily sent terrible vibrations through his sore muscles, his legs taking the brunt of the impact while his arms caught the floor, allowing him to land in a crouch. Looking up, he hastily rose to lift his hands in the air.

The mad Imperial had the Altmer against the table lining the wall, bearing down on his sword as the elf blocked with her own.

Summoning his concentration again, Etienne brought his hands together in an attempt to create a fireball. His magicka ignited in front of his chest, and he grimaced in triumph at the powerful, scorching sphere. Turning his face back to the dueling soldiers, Etienne was rewarded for his leap when the elf finally kicked the mad man in the leg, shoving him away from her and lifting her sword to give Etienne a perfect shot.

With a cry of effort, Etienne threw his palms outward, launching the fireball directly at the Thalmor.

It was almost comical, he thought, the way the elf had turned her face into the oncoming attack. Etienne saw her eyes widen a split second before the fire crashed into her exposed face. Shrieking in agony, the conjured sword disappeared as she brought her hands to her burning skin. She hunched over, fingers shaking over her face as she tried to heal herself.

Etienne stood, reaching for his dagger with the intent to stab with elf quickly when the mad Imperial rushed at her again. Etienne watched, transfixed with morbid fascination, as the veteran brought his Imperial sword down on the she-elf's neck, burying itself partly in her spine. He jerk it out again quickly, allowing blood to spurt out through her armor. The body jerked from the force, collapsing to the ground with her fingers still caught between the Elven helmet and her face. The Imperial brought his sword down again, yelling savagely each time the sword made contact.

Etienne flinched as the sword hacked at the tattered bits of skin, muscle and bone holding the elf's head to her body. A disgusted shudder ran through his body when at last it came loose, allowing the sword to crash against the stones. The Imperial brought the sword down weakly a few more times, gasping for breath. Etienne brought his eyes up to stare at him, flinching from the sight of the blood that clung to his grey beard and tattered tunic.

He had no more than a few second to take in the butchery when the entire chamber seemed to quake with the sound of an explosion echoing from the main chamber. Etienne's head snapped forward before he twitched in the direction of the action, unwilling to take his eyes off the old mad man. Fortunately for him, the lunatic was focused on the corpse between them.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, looking away to move against the door and press his back against the entrance wall. He leaned against it just in time to brace himself against the second explosion, occurring somewhere to his left.

The Thalmor who had fallen from the upper level was now a smoking pile of charred limbs and moonstone armor, filling the chamber with the smell of burning flesh that had barely registered before in the Imperial's room. Etienne grasped the edge of the door in shock, never having seen Aneira use such a tactic in battle. Belatedly, he realized that she was still locked in combat with the Thalmor wizard. Frowning in confusion, Etienne was knocked to the ground as yet another explosion rocked the tunnels, a fiery blast landing where the wizard had been standing moments before.

The Thalmor began to curse viciously in a foreign tongue as Aneira jumped away from him, sparing the upper landing a glance. Still slightly dazed, Etienne followed her line of sight.

Esbern, that feeble looking old man, was standing there, hands still glowing with the flames he'd conjured. Etienne screamed at him in disbelief.

"Are you _insane!?_ " Etienne bellowed, struggling to get to his feet. "Do you want to send us all to Oblivion?"

Esbern did not bother to look at him, building another ball of fire in his hands. The wizard saw, and darted behind the Dragonborn, keeping himself between her and Esbern. Etienne brought himself out of the room, darting backward into the dark corridor. He slid against the darkened wall, his light steps hardly registering in the tunnels as the Thalmor and Aneira started clashing blades again. Dagger in his right hand and sparks in his left, Etienne made his way to the locked gate, positioning himself on the side away from the main door.

Fate was kind to him once more as the wizard had positioned himself exactly opposite Etienne, focusing entirely on Aneira and Esbern. The latter was now standing on the stairs, unable to get a shot without blasting Aneira with the elf.

Hold his dagger tightly, Etienne pushed his fingers through the slot in the gate, sending a shot of sparks into the Thalmor's side. The mer grunted, his hand coming to his ribcage as the shocks coursed through him. Aneira leapt forward, her own lightning striking the wizard at his neck, forcing his body to jerk and spasm.

"Filthy dogs," he gasped, looking up to see Etienne behind the wall. Raising a shaking right hand, the Thalmor sent a charge of sparks through the door.

Etienne whipped back behind the wall, watching the purple sparks streak past him into the tunnel stones, which began to darken and crack. The lightning didn't last long, stopping nearly in time with the sound of a knife sliding across skin. The dull thud that echoed in the chamber reassured him that it was safe again.

Crawling hesitantly toward the gate, Etienne grasped the metal door to hoist himself upright. Peering through, he saw Aneira crouching on the other side, her hands hovering over the form of the old woman. He opened the door carefully, sliding his dagger into his belt as he approached. Esbern came to stand beside Aneira, looking impatiently toward the exit as she tended to the woman. Etienne, too, felt a nervous apprehension at the idea of lingering. Still trying to catch his breath, he willed his heartbeat to slow, focusing on the restoration light Aneira was washing over the woman.

"Hefid is mad, Dragonborn," Esbern said quietly. "Not only mad, she's also completely deaf." He breathed deeply, watching the old woman. Etienne saw her shuddering begin to slow. "On top of the blood loss, it might be kinder to let her finally rest in peace." Aneira hesitated, the light in her hands fading away. "You seem quite skilled in restoration," Esbern observed. "You can see that even with the wounds healed, she doesn't have the strength to recover from this."

Aneira fisted her hands in her lap, her head still bent over Hefid.

"What about that Imperial?" Etienne asked, turning to Esbern from the pitiful scene. "He completely lost control when those elves showed up."

Esbern frowned, turning to the door across the chamber. He slowly strode over to it, carefully looking inside. After a few moments he hung his head, shaking it before walking into the dark room. Etienne heard hushed voices from the room as Aneira stood, lifting Hefid in her arms. The woman moaned softly, her face grey. Aneira strode into her room, laying her on the dirtied cot. She reached into her pack, pulling out something small. She bent over the woman for a few moments more, pouring something into her mouth.

Etienne turned away, glancing back to see Esbern leading the Imperial out of his room by the arm.

"That's right, Salvianus. New accommodations come with the rank. You've earned this, and the Empire wants to reward you," Esbern stated calmly, leading the man up the stairs.

"I-It's still hopeless though, isn't it?" Salvianus, as he was apparently called, asked weakly, stumbling up the first steps.

"Maybe not, old friend. Maybe not."

Etienne swallowed thickly, eyes stinging as he became aware of the pungent odor wafting around him. Burned flesh, copious blood, and the residual smell of sparks combined with the filth and musky smell of the Warrens. He choked slightly, the effect leaving a foul, bitter taste in his mouth.

Aneira left Hefid's room to help Esbern move Salvianus into his old barricaded chamber. Etienne didn't move, fighting the steadily building sensation of lightheadedness. The room swam darkly and for a moment he felt as if he was back in the Embassy, surrounded by death in that horrible escape tunnel.

Spinning around, he rushed unsteadily to the dark corner past Salvianus' room, bending over and bracing his hand on the disgusting moldy wall. He dry heaved a few times, the limited contents in his stomach churning. Despite his efforts nothing escaped his mouth, and he settled for spitting pathetically into the stones. Wishing desperately for some water, he turned in a wide arc, slowly heading toward the main door.

Aneira met him there, grabbing his shoulder once again to steady him. He expected to feel another bout of restoration, but it didn't come. She merely held out a skin of water to him, and he drank it greedily as she opened the door and lead Esbern out.

They didn't start running until they reached the first exposed level in the vaults. The stones creaked as if someone was near, stalking steadily closer. Even Aneira and Esbern seemed to feel a sense of foreboding, as suddenly their steps were hurried, echoing loudly as they all rushed for the door into the Flagon.

They weren't hampered further by any lowlifes or Thalmor agents, though Esbern did mutter a curse at the sight of their bodies. Etienne refused to look at the corpse he had butchered, a terrible feeling of understanding coming over him.

He thought he understood now what Aneira had seen as he mutilated the Thalmor soldier's face. It was the same thing he had seen when Salvianus hacked away the other Altmer's head.

It had been like looking at madness incarnate. Violent, furious madness that ran unchecked. And Etienne was terrified that, if he didn't recover, if he didn't find a way to get help and move on, he had just witnessed his own miserable fate.


	15. Cost of Treachery

Esbern stood at Aneira's side, observing them all with an air of impatience. Aneira, for her part, hadn't reacted overtly when the Guild members ordered the three of them to wait. Dirge was standing at the bridge, dagger ready in his right hand, while everyone else was on their feet within the bar.

Brynjolf moved forward, taking in the sight of each of them. Etienne tried to keep his face calm, though his heart was still racing from their recent fight, not to mention the tormented state of his psyche.

"What, Brynjolf? We're in a bit of a hurry." Etienne bit out, feeling warm and uneasy under their collective stares once more.

"We've got a bit of a problem, Etienne," Brynjolf replied lowly, gesturing backwards with his right hand.

Following his arm, Etienne looked further into the Flagon. The members were looking at him stoically, and in the dim lighting he did not immediately see what Brynjolf meant. Turning to Vekel, whose face was the only one fully visible, the barkeep jerked his head forward and to his right. Turning slightly, Etienne saw a figure sitting at Vex's usual table, looking around nervously. He heard Aneira's sharp intake of breath behind him, his head flinching in her direction. Vex brought a torch nearer to the seated man, illuminating his face. Etienne furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"Gissur?"

"Yes, Gissur," Brynjolf confirmed, striding over to stand next to the smaller Nord. "He arrived here shortly after both of you," Brynjolf explained, clapping a hand on Gissur's shoulder. The man flinched away, ducking his head. "Truth be told, he's been spending a lot of time around the Flagon the past two days. Vekel here can tell you." Brynjolf nodded toward him, still polishing a tankard behind the bar.

"Aye, he's been asking a lot of questions about an old man in the sewers, and whether anyone else had come by looking for him." Vekel sneered at the man, setting the tankard on the bar. "Kept watching the door like he was waiting for someone. And then today he showed up with some Thalmor toadies."

Etienne turned from the dirty beggar to stare at Vekel, and then turned back to Brynjolf.

"And you just let them waltz in after us, is that it?" Etienne snapped, his heart rate accelerating all over again.

Brynjolf's face was difficult to see, but he almost looked contrite.

"Wasn't much we could do, lad. They aren't the type of folk that ask permission." Brynjolf patted Gissur hard on the shoulder, flexing his fingers. "And _Gissur_ here," the beggar let out a yelp of pain, "sent them through the door without so much as a word to us."

Etienne's throat clenched, staring at the pitiful man. He heard swift footsteps before Aneira came to stand beside him, angling her body toward his and placing a hand on his left arm.

"He was at the Embassy," Aneira muttered. Etienne turned to her sharply. "He was talking with Rulindil about getting you to talk, and about his _payment_."

Etienne stiffened, furious realization coming over him.

"You-" he choked, fists clenching at his sides. He drew out one of his daggers, not caring which enchantment it had, and surged forward out of Aneira' hand.

The Guild members parted as he charged through them, nearly shoving Brynjolf aside as he brought the dagger to the traitor's neck. He used his right hand to grab the back of his head by the hair, jerking his face up. Gissur began to shake slightly, his eyes wide and terrified.

"You piece of filth. You sold me to _them_?!" Etienne applied pressure to the dagger. It sizzled with sparks, and a few drops of blood began to flow past the blade.

Gissur's eyes started flowing, his nose running in a disgusting trail down his mouth.

"P-please, Etienne," he whimpered, trying not to move the dagger any further into his skin.

"How much did they pay you?" Etienne demanded over his pleas. Gissur didn't respond immediately, his lips trembling. " _Huh?_ I said _how much?!_ "

Gissur let out a wail as Etienne lifted the dagger, bringing it to rest against his right eye and temple.

"Tell me or I will start pealing you apart." He ordered quietly.

Gissur looked down his nose, away from Etienne.

"Dr-Dragonborn, p-please!"

For a moment, Etienne was confused, his senses entirely focused on the trash that had delivered him to his tormentors. After a second, he looked up, turning to stare at Aneira. He didn't hear a sound from her, though it would have been hard over Gissur's pathetic blubbering.

Glancing around cautiously, he realized the entire Guild was waiting on her, looking to see what she would do.

After a long, tense moment, Aneira crossed her arms and leaned her right hip back against Delvin's table. Everyone in the Flagon took that to mean the same thing, and Gissur started moaning.

"I got n-nothin' to live on! 'M always starvin' and b-beggin for ma' meals or a few coins!" He stopped to sniff loudly. "I just needed something to keep goin'!"

"I don't care," Etienne whispered, a feeling of calm fury settling over him. He turned to glare at the beggar again. "I don't care what you've had to deal with. You told the fucking _Thalmor_ to go after me, and then you hung around their base of operations," Etienne's voice grew louder, the knife digging into the right side of Gissur's face, "and waited while they _ripped me open and then stitched me back up!_ "

Gissur closed his eyes against Etienne's roar, folding his lips together.

"Now I," Etienne stopped for breath, "I want to know. _Right. Now._ How. Much?"

Gissur slowly brought up his right hand, pointing across the bar.

"H-he's got my pack! Everything they gave me is in there!" He spewed the words out quickly, trembling badly under Etienne's knife.

Etienne turned to see Dirge reach down and lift a dark brown leather satchel up off the floor.

"This is all he came in with," Dirge ground out, tossing the bag to Aneira, who deftly caught it.

She walked it over to the table at which Gissur sat and casually dumped the contents onto the wooden surface.

Eyeing the pile of ordinary items, Etienne felt Brynjolf come to stand next to him.

"He was also carrying these," Brynjolf added quietly, laying something on the table. Etienne glanced down, his lips twisting to see the elven dagger and note Brynjolf had left beneath it. Aneira picked up the slip of paper, unfolding it carefully. Holding it near the light, she read aloud.

"'Description of target: Breton female, believed to go by Adelaide. Parenthesis around 'may be an alias'. Likely to be enquiring about "Esbern" and the Ratway.'" Aneira scoffed, casually tucking the note in her own pack. "' _May_ be an alias?'" She moved to Gissur's dumped belongings, sifting through them. Among some extra clothes, the beggar had two bottles of ale, one of which fell to the floor and shattered. Etienne paid no attention to Vekel's cursing in the background. He watched Aneira sort out a few poisons, which Gissur quickly claimed were part of his payment. The pack also contained a few pieces of cooked food and raw ingredients.

"This can't be everything," Etienne muttered, eyes darting over the table. "You can't expect me to believe you gave them my name for a few poisonsand bits of foods." He turned back to stare at him in disbelief. "I gave you steady employment! You had gold in your pockets because of me! And you threw me away for- _what?_ " He grabbed the few pieces of gold that had rolled onto the table, letting them rain out of his hand. Etienne snatched a small vial of black liquid. "Selling a few potions?Or were these for another little job they gave you?" Etienne grabbed Gissur by the collar of his raggedy tunic, angling the knife into his jaw. Blood quickly began to flow when Gissur jerked beneath the sharp blade. Purple sparks flew into the air at the contact. "Is that it, you filthy little traitor!?"

A strong hand grasped Etienne's arm, tugging it and the knife away from Gissur's face. He struggled momentarily before it jerked him around to face Aneira. Her face was hard.

"Get ahold of yourself, or I'm going to take this away from you," she promised quietly, using her free hand to grip Gissur's collar alongside him. Etienne gaped at her, disbelief marring his rage.

"You can't be serious," his voice sounded strained to his ears. "He fed me to those dogs. He deserves whatever-"

"No, Etienne," Aneira declared softly, eyes drifting down to the bleeding Nord. "If you think like that… Either take your revenge or walk away. Those are your options."

Etienne fumed, wrenching his arm away from Gissur's collar. Aneira released his left hand, which had tightened painfully around the dagger. He looked down at the table again, glaring at the potions in particular. Even he, a thieving scoundrel, wouldn't have traded the life of a businessman, almost a friend, for so little.

"How did you plan to live with yourself?" Etienne inquired lowly, resting his eyes on Gissur's red face. He furrowed his brows.

"What?" Etienne's lip curled again.

"How did you justify handing someone over to be tortured?" Etienne grasped the clean, new tunic lying in a heap on the table. "For piles of junk!"

Gissur's expression finally changed from fear to anger. "You can ask me that? _You?_ You're nothing but a dirty thief, but you still live better than me! I just wanted some gold in my pocket for once! You've stolen from people in every city from here to Highrock!" Gissur winced, hands cupping his neck and right jawline. "Where do you get off being so self-righteous?"

Etienne's face contorted again, and he leaned over the bleeding man. "Self-righteous? I never traded _people_ for gold. Even a dirty thief doesn't stoop that low." He shoved the tunic in Gissur's face. "You're lower than any of us. And what's worse, you didn't even do it for something valuable." He shook the clothing under Gissur's upturned nose. "You sold your soul to Oblivion for fucking _scraps_."

Gissur leaned forward, pushing the cloth away. "You found religion now, Etienne? The gods don't care about you or me! We've never been shown any mercy! We both did what we had to do to survive! So, we've both been Oblivion bound since we were born!"

Etienne grimaced for a moment, his words ringing a painful bell, before whipping the tunic across Gissur's chest. The cloth swung out and back before bumping against Gissur's chest, making a peculiarly hard _thump_. Distracted from what he wanted to say next, Etienne looked down, left hand coming to rest along bottom of the tunic. He felt something small and hard against his fingers.

Tossing the dagger onto the table, he felt the object more fully, feeling it roll around the cloth. He searched inside of it, finally coming to a pocket along the side. Finger's closing around the small, cold item, Etienne pulled it out and held it to the light. The sapphire had a muted shine in the dreary torch light.

Etienne let out a hollow laugh.

"Well, looks like they gave you some treasure after all," he commented snidely, looking down at Gissur with contempt. "Guess I spoke too soon." Gissur gulped, his face turning white.

Aneira reached down beside him, pulling up the pants. She tossed the extra clothes onto a chair after feeling through them, slowly setting down the contents of one pocket on the table. Etienne looked down, sneering at the bright garnet.

"That's it then," he stated mildly, picking up the second gem. "At least I was worth more than a few decent meals."

Seizing the leather pack from the floor, Etienne began to hastily shove the potions, food, and clothing back inside on top of the jewels, which he wrapped in the tunic.

"All of this," he proclaimed, nearing slamming the sack in front of Gissur, "is mine now. It'll be my payment for _services rendered_. Not that any of this," he leaned in close to Gissur again, who leaned back in the chair, nearly toppling it, "makes up for what they did to me," Etienne finished quietly, eyes turning to stare at the cut on Gissur's neck. The blood trails running down Gissur's neck suddenly struck a chord in him, bearing a horrible similarity to the blood trails that had only recently run down the length of his body. His own had been disturbed by another slice before they ever made it to the ground. Eyes stinging, he brought the elven dagger once belonging to Gissur up to his neck. "Every day, I prayed to the Divines, begging them to kill me or free me. It was weeks before I was shown that mercy. And in those weeks, they did almost everything they could think of to make me talk." Gissur turned to meet his eyes slowly. "You put me in there, and they tried to destroy me. But I'm not going to let them," he promised fiercely, "I'm not going to do that, Gissur." He shook his head slightly, slinging the pack over his shoulder. Turning slightly, he saw Aneira back away slowly. Returning to look at Gissur, Etienne angled the dagger carefully, steadying his hand. "You're not going to turn me into a monster like them. So _this_ is your mercy."

He slid the dagger from Gissur's neck before plunging it into his heart with all the force he could muster. Gissur gave a choked gasp that quickly broke off into a gurgle, blood flowing in a red wave down his chin. Etienne backed away quickly, leaving the shiny dagger protruding out of the Nord's chest. Gissur's hands fluttered briefly to the handle before they fell limply at his sides. Gissur's head lolled to the right, his throat flexing as his torso jerked helplessly. He went still in the chair before tipping out of it, landing with a sharp thud against the floor on his left side, his face cracking against the dirty stones.

No one reacted for a few moments, the most motion in the room the water and Etienne's deep breaths. He slowly reached out to reclaim the dwarven dagger Aneira had given him from the table, inserting it heavily back into its sheath.

He turned around, his vision slightly blurred from the release of adrenaline. He saw Vekel standing behind his bar.

"Sorry about the mess, Vekel," he said breathlessly, walking clumsily back over to Aneira. She looked at him, her expression one of concern, but he looked away, striding past her to stand next to the bridge.

"There were already Thalmor agents waiting for us, Brynjolf," Aneira called out from where she stood near Delvin's table. "Can you explain that?"

Etienne glanced up at the Nord still standing near Gissur's body.

"Can't say that I can. None went through while I've been here. Vekel?"

The barkeep shook his head.

"No one came through after I arrived, but I was only here a few hours before all this started."

Brynjolf nodded, turning to scan the room. "Anyone here see anything? Dirge?" The thug mimicked Vekel. "Sorry, lass," Brynjolf spread out his hands, "we've got our own affairs to tend to. Can't always be watching that door."

Etienne couldn't see Aneira's face, and so he turned to stare at Esbern, silent for all this time. The old man bent his head, his skin flushing.

"Right," Aneira replied, turning to march over the bridge, followed closely by Etienne and Esbern. "Let's get the hell out of here."

As Etienne walked through the familiar door to the Flagon, he didn't close it in time to block out the sound of something large and heavy splashing in the lake.


	16. Paranoia

The journey out of Riften, thank the gods, was uneventful. Rushing to the horses, Etienne was forced to share with Esbern, who hung onto him from behind. Etienne shot Aneira a look of displeasure as the old man's spindly arms wrapped around his waist. It was the first reaction he'd shown since leaving the cistern, though his mind still felt slightly numb. Aneira smiled thinly before snapping her own reins without preamble. Frost and Oriel swiftly carried them away from the dirty city under cover of darkness with the help of Aneira's candlelight spell that illuminating the road and herself. Esbern grumbled that she made them a glowing target, to which she quipped that a candlelight spell would be far easier to extinguish and relight than a torch.

They rode the horses as hard as they were able, wary of the snow and ice that had frozen among the stones on the cobbled road. Etienne kept his eyes focused on Aneira and the path, fearful that Frost would dump them on the uneven road. It was an easy target for his thoughts as he tried to keep his mind off Gissur and the Guild.

Unfortunately, his distraction didn't last long. Esbern's voice, low and grinding, came into his ear after they had been riding for little over an hour.

"You said that the Thalmor had you?"

Etienne jerked in surprise, turning his head slightly in the direction of the voice.

"Yes," he said shortly, unwilling to discuss his torment any further, even with another of the Thalmor's hunted.

"How did you come to travel with the Dragonborn?"

Etienne took a deep breath, wishing the old man would leave the topic alone.

"She saved me while breaking in and out of the Embassy near Solitude."

Esbern said nothing for a few moments, and Etienne began to hope that he was done.

"Why are you still with her now?"

Etienne's eyebrows furrowed, hoping the man felt his annoyance.

"Because she saved me, and asked me to help her. That good enough for you?"

"How long ago was this?"

"It… a few days, I think. Why do you care?"

Esbern didn't hesitate to reply this time.

"Well, considering you're a thief and therefore of questionable repute, it seems odd that you would accompany one such as the Dragonborn. Especially now that she is leaving the Guild."

Etienne stiffened, indignation filling him.

 _What an ungrateful, pompous_ …

"She asked me to help find you, and I owe her. What does it matter to you?"

"It matters," the old man stated firmly, "because the fewer people who know what we're doing, the better."

Etienne scoffed, pulling on the reins to avoid a branch on the road.

"Hate to break it to you, but I knew about the Thalmor's interest in you before Aneira and I even met. They were _interrogating_ me about your whereabouts." Etienne's face burned at the admission, and he cursed his tongue again. Why was he so willing to spit his torture in someone's face when they bothered him? He always hated that they knew afterwards.

Etienne felt Esbern stiffen against him, pulling back slightly before crowding him even more.

"What did you tell them?" Esbern demanded, arms tightening around his chest.

Etienne turned his head slightly again to scowl at him.

"That there was some man living in the Ratway, who might be the guy they were looking for." The familiar need to shut the conversation down crept up inside him, and he tightened his grip on the reins. "We're done discussing this." Etienne focused on the road again, startled when Aneira abruptly broke off, riding down a different trail. Esbern did not speak to him again, and Etienne focused once more on their journey, wishing only to get away from Riften and any other Thalmor agents lurking about.

They avoided the open roads for the most part, Aneira keeping a near constant watch with her detect life, which explained the sudden changes in direction. She and Esbern did not permit stopping at any of the small towns or farms that dotted the countryside, and Etienne's side and legs ached by the time the small group reached the eastern most part of the Whiterun plains. Hours of night riding through the mountain paths were not helping his body.

Allowing the horses to stop and rest at one of the small rivers, Etienne set up a small fire, mindful of the beacon it could become in the dim light before dawn. Esbern approached Aneira at the water, putting his hand on her arm. After a few seconds, they walked away from him, talking in low voices. Etienne watched them out of the corner of his eye, slowly preparing a few pieces of grilled leeks that he had… acquired from Gissur. Had his stomach not been growling so fiercely, he might have been tempted to through the sustenance in the river purely out of spite. Instead, he slowly heated it over the flames he'd conjured in some dry driftwood, trying to make out what Aneira was saying over the sounds of nature.

Esbern was making a placating gesture, palms up and out toward the Dragonborn. She stood firm, her arms crossed tightly, and though he could not make out her words Etienne could tell her tone was cold.

Etienne shook his head, turning back to his task. Irritating the Dragonborn a few hours after meeting her, after she saved your life, seemed like a very stupid idea.

After a few minutes of what seemed to be heated discussion, Etienne distinctly heard Aneira start to raise her voice. Both of them said, within a few seconds of each other, something about a "Thalmor plant."

His hand stilled over the fire, the leek nearly slipping into the flames. Etienne stared at it unblinkingly, mouth gaping as he realized the context of the discussion.

 _So, the old codger thinks I'm working for the Thalmor_ , Etienne thought bitterly, glaring at his small fire. _Nice to know my fighting for his life in the sewers meant something_.

He struggled to hear them more clearly, shifting away from the fire. He could only make out Esbern saying something lowly, followed by a clipped dismissal by Aneira. She turned to walk back to the fire and horses, standing at Frost's side to adjust the saddle.

"Esbern will ride with me on Oriel for the remainder of our journey." Aneira said in a tone of finality, tightening the straps around the stallion. "We're going to stop in Whiterun to gather supplies. Then he and I will go on alone from there."

Etienne's face fell in shock, disbelief overtaking his features.

" _What?"_

Aneira did not turn to look at him, busying herself with feeding Frost a carrot.

"It's not true!" Etienne yelled, abruptly jumping to his feet. Aneira paused, turning to look at him slowly. "I heard what you were saying! He started grilling me while I was stuck riding with him!" She didn't respond. "Yo-you can't _believe_ him? After everything I've done since getting out!" He searched her face, pleading for her to deny it. "You can't actually believe I would help the Thalmor! You saw what they did to me!"

Aneira shook her head, putting her hands in front of her.

"No, I _don't_ believe that. Not for one moment." Aneira sighed, seeming irritated again. "These people live with severe paranoia, seeing threats around every corner, and they're rarely right." Relief began to set in briefly, before she continued. "But it doesn't make sense to endanger you any further. You've done more than I had the right to ask of you-"

"You didn't even need me in Riften!" Etienne cut her off. "You could've gotten through the Ratway on your own!"

Aneira looked down, seeming ashamed.

"You're right. I shouldn't have asked you to risk your life needlessly. I didn't realize the Ratway would be as straightforward as it was. People had described it to me as a dark, endless maze. Risking you against the Thalmor was-"

"That's _not_ what I meant!" He cut her off harshly. Aneira looked up at him, confusion marring her face. "You didn't need my help in the Ratway! I came with you to try to repay you and ended up doing nothing! You didn't need me to take down the ruddy Thalmor or find the old man. What good was I?" He was breathing heavily, fists clenching spastically.

Aneira shook her head in disagreement. "You helped me get past the Guild," she said in a slow but heartfelt manner. "It could have been very bloody otherwise. And you saved Salvianus," she beseeched him, walking away from the horses to stand on the other side of the small fire. "That meant the _world_ to me."

Etienne scoffed, looking away from her honest eyes. "Yeah, sure, I saved a rambling old lunatic and let him live another day in isolation. I'm a real hero."

Aneira didn't respond to his sarcasm.

"Esbern and I are going to meet up with someone, and then… then I'm not even sure where we're going next, or what we'll be doing. I can't drag you along with me. You're still recovering-"

"Because of you!" Etienne bellowed, finally shocking Aneira enough for her to take a step back. "Don't you _get_ it? I'm alive and walking around because of you!" He strode forward, nearly tripping over the fire in his haste to reach her. She didn't back away again, but she flinched slightly when he grasped her arms. Her eyes were wide.

"Etienne, wha-"

"They might have killed me by now and left me to rot in that hole or I might still be hanging in those chains if you hadn't helped me!" He shook her slightly. "Don't you see? I owe you my life!"

Aneira's face crumpled, and Etienne panted slightly, pain searing through his chest.

So much of his time had been focused on the Thalmor, on getting revenge or getting as far away from as possible. His life had been so completely uprooted, first by them and then by her. Every aspect of his life the last few weeks centered around one or the other. Aneira and he had only been together a handful of _days_ , and in those days he'd needed her. Constantly. He needed her healing touch and calming spells. He needed her presence, firm and strong, assuring him that there was no real danger. He couldn't come to harm while she was near. Fighting his tormentors in the dark tunnels, he'd felt nervous, apprehensive, but he hadn't been truly, deathly afraid.

That fear began to fill him now at the thought of going on, of moving forward without her help. How could he do it without her?

Aneira searched his face, and opened her mouth to say something. Etienne never heard what it was.

Her eyes flicked behind him suddenly, widening again for a split second before she shoved him to the ground, landing roughly on top of him. Etienne grunted in pain, his spine twisting awkwardly. Aneira rolled off him quickly, drawing her bow in one swift movement. Her features, so soft and sad only moments before, twisted into a warrior's mask. Etienne opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when the answer echoed across the flatlands.

Turning his face to the bright blue sky, he heard the dragon's roar moments before its dark shadow passed over them.


	17. The Last Touch of Sunlight

Etienne's breath halted for a moment, terror washing over him as the dragon swooped low and rained fire down only a handful of yards to their left. He rolled onto his stomach toward the water, struggling to his feet. The ground shook with the force of the creature's wings, sending rocks and water spraying in multiple directions. The snow spun into the air in great flurries, clinging to his clothes or melting from the dragon's heat. There was a loud splashing in front of him, and looking up, he was dismayed to see the horses fleeing, galloping away from their place at the water and down the plains. Esbern stood near the river, eyeing the sky with hands clutching fire.

The distinctive _twang_ of a bow sounded to his left, and he saw Aneira crouching low to the ground, another arrow lining up as she kept the dragon in her sights. The first shot had struck the belly, but the second arrow flew into the air narrowly missing the head. Aneira cursed, bringing herself up as the dragon circled close again.

Throwing herself toward Etienne, she wrapped her right arm around his torso, bringing them both to a crouch once again. The dragon's flames blasted toward them only to reach a barrier at the last minute. Aneira's ward faded and surged, nearly shattering as the fire rained down on them. Etienne gaped unblinkingly as the flames curves around them, thinking to bring up his own ward only as the last of them faded. The snow melted around them to expose the dry yellow grass to the heat, igniting a ring of flames around their small sanctuary. Aneira dropped the spell as quickly as she could, whipping away from him to face the beast again.

Fire rocketed into the air, and Etienne hit the ground as Esbern ran up behind them. His aim was true, though the dragon didn't seem particularly bothered by the flames. It raised its head and bellowed loudly, its long body twisting as if shooing away a meager annoyance.

"Lightning, Esbern!" Aneira shouted, preparing her own blast as it swooped down again. Her purple charge hit the dragon square in the face, causing it to recoil and thrash in the air. Etienne's eyes widened as it blundered toward them, head flailing as it crashed toward the ground. "Move!" Aneira screamed, rushing out of the path of the downed dragon.

Etienne reacted quickly enough without her this time, sprinting on unsteady legs toward the river. The wind whipped behind him as the dragon slid past them. Etienne turned around quickly, watching as the dragon reoriented itself. Its head turned in their direction, rearing back as it inhaled loudly.

" _Fus Ro Dah!"_

Etienne hastily covered his ears as the words echoed around them, squinting to see a nearly invisible force plow into the dragon. Its head snapped back as if struck by a blow, forcing whatever had been building in its maw to escape in a pitiful gasp. The next moment its face was pelted with dual lightning strikes, Esbern and Aneira taking it down with deadly accuracy. The creature reared back again, stumbling away from the attacks.

Etienne conjured his own blast of sparks, panicking as he realized that despite their combined blasts the dragon was _still_ turning to face them, its winged arms pulling it forward. It turned to Aneira first, sending a blast of fire her way with a high-pitched shriek. She buckled beneath a ward again, her feet losing ground as the creature advanced. As the flames faded, she tried to throw a bolt of lightning into its face. The sparks fizzled out quickly, barely leaving her hand.

Horrified realization swept through Etienne, as he saw the Dragonborn well and truly out of magicka for the first time. Though her face wasn't visible, her hurried pacing was enough suggest that she too felt panicked. Her bow was still in her hand, somehow, but her attempt to draw an arrow was sabotaged when the beast took a snap at her. Aneira leapt out of the way, landing on her side with a grunt. The beast went after her, opening its wide mouth only to feel a fireball at its eye.

Etienne charged forward with Esbern, his smaller spells joining with the old Nord's to drive the dragon back and away from Aneira's recovering form. She brought herself to a crouch again, and Etienne brought his eyes away from the dragon to stare for a moment in dismay. Blood was running down the side of her face onto her neck, a head wound beginning somewhere under her helmet. Aneira leaned back slightly, favoring her right side as she tried to draw an arrow. Etienne turned his focus back to the dragon, panting as his own magicka dwindled to mere flashes. Even Esbern's magicka seemed to be waning slightly. His fireballs weren't charging to the fullest extent, and he took more time between shots. Aneira's arrow lodged itself in the dragon's left flank, earning another roar of pain. Etienne inhaled deeply, focusing to allow his magicka time to build up once again.

The dragon's entire body suddenly angled itself, the finned tail rising high over them all.

He stumbled backward, yelling in fear as the dragon brought its tail to the ground with a mighty crash. Etienne landed on his back before rolling into the river. He stopped facedown, inhaling the cold water as he gasped from the impact. The icy current began to pull at him, his muscles freezing in protest at the abrupt change in temperature. His helmet, loose from the fight, began to fill with water, yanking his head down. Fingers stiff and lungs burning, he fumbled with the straps, finally shoving the helmet backwards off his head. It sank quickly, but he didn't waste time trying to salvage it. Kicking awkwardly, Etienne brought himself to the surface, paddling in stunted movements to the shoreline a few feet away. Choking painfully, he struggled to all fours, desperately trying to purge the water from his lungs. His muscles nearly buckled from the frigid water, and he wondered desperately if he had lost his ring of resist cold.

Fear rose up as he felt the ground shake again with the dragon's steps. Forcing himself to turn back to the battle, Etienne saw Aneira position herself at the side of the dragon's head.

" _Iiz!"_

Ice sailed into the dragon's face, great chunks seeming to attach themselves to its jaw line and eye. The head slammed into the ground, only for Aneira to leap atop it with her dwarven dagger clutched in both hands. Straddling its neck, the Dragonborn plunged the blade down hard, wedging it between its eyes.

With a great gasping screech, the dragon's entire frame began to convulse, the appendages going limp and useless as its webbed head hit the dirt. Aneira slid off quickly, pulling her dagger with her.

Etienne crawled further away from the water, still struggling for breath. A white haze had developed around his eyes, obscuring everything like a thin blindfold. He fell to the rocky mud in a heap, coughing and agitating his already sore throat.

A strong wind began to flow around him, whipping his soaked hair away from his neck. Looking up shakily, he was stunned to see a beautiful white light sailing around Aneira, forming around her like a mist. The streaks of light emanated from the dragon, whose hide burned away in a bright orange light until only its pale bones remained. Transfixed, he stared at Aneira, her head lifted back as her body began to shimmer. The shining shroud clung to her with an ethereal glow, as if a divine power was revealing itself to his mortal eyes.

Finally, she lowered her head, the light fading quickly. Aneira opened her eyes, surveying her surroundings with a slow, deliberate turn of her head. She turned to stare down at him from her higher position, and he recoiled in shock.

Aneira's eyes, even from a distance, were glowing. Their color had changed from her usual dark blue to a radiant, hypnotizing violet.

Etienne knew that color. The memory came rushing to the forefront of his mind, staggering him for a few seconds with profound realization until Aneira looked away again.

Aneira bent over her knees, panting heavily, and the spell was broken. He hauled himself to his feet, walking almost drunkenly in her direction. Esbern beat him there, carefully putting his right hand on Aneira's right arm. He pulled her upward, though she didn't seem inclined to accept his unsolicited assistance. Glaring at the old man, she walked toward the river, kneeling in the mud. She took off her leather helmet, setting it aside to wash her face in the cold water. The soft glow of restoration surrounded her body, though it didn't last long.

Etienne looked around, arms clutching each other as a cool breeze blew over them. It hurt to move, it hurt to stand still. Every muscle in his body was locked in place. He couldn't do anything but stare at Aneira, his mind still buzzing around the chill in his body.

She stood slowly, turning to stare at them both. Esbern moved forward.

"We should go on immediately, Dragonborn. Your shouts may have attracted other dragons lurking nearby."

Aneira grunted, spinning around and wiping off her face.

"Etienne, gather whatever supplies you can pick up. I've got to find the horses."

She strode away down the river, right hand casting the familiar blue detect life spell. Disappointment filled him when she didn't offer him a healing spell, as she almost always did after a fight.

 _I've already been left behind_.

Looking down at his hand, he saw that his ring had indeed clung to his finger, or he'd no doubt have frozen solid in the water. Etienne glanced around their ruined rest spot. The fire and food had been obliterated, but two packs were sitting along the shore of the river, barely touching the water. He shuffled over to them, pulling them both up the shore and opening them quickly.

Disregarding the clothes and food that had gotten wet, he hurriedly dug around for a specific bottle. He was certain Aneira had packed some.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he pulled out a bottle of resist cold, struggling to uncork it. The liquid spread like hot mead through him, though it didn't taste nearly as good. His limbs loosened as the magic took hold, and he heaved one of the packs onto his back. Taking a stamina and a health potion, he pulled one of the dryer tunics out to dry his hair and skin, running it over his legs.

Feeling stronger, he turned to spot Esbern walking away toward Aneira, not even sparing him a glance. Annoyance bubbled up inside of him. "Oy!" He yelled, picking up the second pack by the strap.

The old man turned, his eyebrow furrowed. "What?"

"Here," Etienne said simply, tossing the pack into his chest. Esbern stared at it in contempt, his mouth forming a grim line. "You're holding up just fine. I'm freezing my ass off and exhausted."

Etienne brushed past him, hurrying after Aneira down the river before Esbern could retort. The bastard was trying to make the Dragonborn leave him behind. Esbern could get used to carrying the luggage.

They marched on, panting and shivering in the cold air that blew across the plains. Aneira led them west across the river, and eventually they saw the horses, standing together and skittish. It took a calming spell from Aneira to get them close, but the horses kept panicking and rearing back whenever they tried to mount them.

Finally, Aneira gave a frustrated shout, and her voice echoed across the land again.

" _Kaan Drem!"_

The horses calmed instantly, the agitation leaving their posture. Etienne stared at Aneira again, flabbergasted at the power she wielded. Through all their battles with the Thalmor, Etienne had never heard her shout. He had never even _understood_ what the Nords were talking about when they boasted about her power. Now, she had done it many times as if it was nothing to her, as if it were no different from loosing an arrow or casting a spell.

As the noise faded, she turned to him, and he saw the bizarre, shining violet light in her eyes again. The memory flared once more, and Etienne couldn't say anything, his mind too overwhelmed. Aneira frowned, but didn't press him to disclose what was bothering him.

Etienne and Esbern secured their packs quickly, and the three of them continued on their journey, the old Nord keeping wary eyes on the skies. Etienne focused on the back of Aneira's head, desperation clawing at his throat. He needed to talk to her before she left him, needed to make her understand what _he_ now understood.

Though the ride took hours, and the sun was fully risen when they arrived, Dragonsreach loomed before them in what felt like no time at all, and Etienne still didn't have the words he would need to stop her from leaving him behind.


	18. Indebted

Etienne tried to control himself, aware that his fingers kept twitching spastically. His palms were sweating as if he were a lovesick teenager. The context of the impending conversation was completely different, but the fear of rejection was nearly identical.

Aneira was fluttering around Breezehome once again, dropping off her leather armor in exchange for a heavy steel armor lined with black fur and the face of a wolf. She wore a ring beneath her gauntlets, stating that it was enchanted to improve her health. He caught a glimpse of an amulet around her neck as Lydia secured her armor, but he hadn't stared long enough to see what it was.

Wherever she was headed, it appeared that the time for stealth had passed. The notion curled in his gut, spiking his already rattled nerves.

Esbern sat moodily at the fire, constantly glancing out the window and drumming his fingers. The old Nord was notably anxious to leave, and that did not bode well for Etienne. He needed Aneira to agree to speak to him, alone, and with Esbern hovering nearby it wouldn't be easy. He'd been lucky the old soldier hadn't caused a scene outside the city, muttering that going to the hold capital was foolhardy and likely to risk their mission. Aneira had barely even acknowledged his complaints, merely pointing out that her armor was tattered, her potions and food nearly depleted, and her body tired. She stated that if he had a problem with her resting after days of fighting and traveling with little to no sleep, he was welcome to go on without her. Esbern had kept his mouth shut after that.

Even so, between Lydia's hovering and Esbern's impatience, it seemed that Etienne wouldn't get the time with Aneira that he so desperately needed.

"Will you be taking the horses, or setting out on foot?" Lydia questioned, securing the last of Aneira's straps.

"Foot. We're picking someone up, and she doesn't have a steed. I won't burden Frost and Oriel with so much so quickly." Aneira set a steel helmet down on the crates under her stairs before ducking into her side room, followed by Lydia. They spoke in hushed voices, and Etienne heard the sound of a chest opening and closing. The two woman returned to the main room only for Lydia to rush up the stairs.

"Would you please take armor or protection, Esbern?" Aneira asked for the third time, checking the contents of her pack.

"It is not necessary, Dragonborn. Please," Esbern rose, "let's be off."

"No," Aneira shook her head. "I cannot take you traipsing across Skyrim in nothing but your old tunic." She looked him up and down, crossing her arms. "Didn't you have any enchanted rings of amulets down there? I find it unlikely you didn't fortify your person with more than this."

Esbern started to flush darkly again, while Etienne hung his head in exasperation. He'd personally been given a new set of clothes by Lydia the moment he entered the house. Given the sodden state his borrowed leather armor had been in, he wasn't too proud to turn down the kindness. He doubted pride would be an issue with him anymore.

"Just let her give you some armor. What could it possibly hurt?"

Esbern looked down his nose at him, his beady eyes narrowed.

"My apparel is heavily enchanted to increase my health, defenses, and magicka. I am accustomed to wearing only light garments, and have no time to reacquaint myself with new armor now." He turned back to Aneira, who stared at him a little coolly, Etienne thought. " _Please_ , Dragonborn. We must hurry. The longer we delay, the closer we all are to destruction."

Aneira sighed, shutting her eyes wearily before nodding. She turned back to the stairs as Lydia returned, carrying what was clearly a sword wrapped in a pelt.

"Mighty Talos," Esbern breathed nervously, backing away as the blade was unwrapped.

Etienne agreed with the sentiment, staring in disbelief at the sword Aneira had revealed. Its smooth blade had a fine edge and glowed in the firelight, but the exquisite craftsmanship wasn't what drew the eye.

"It is called Dawnbreaker. Meridia gifted it to me not long after I came to Skyrim." Aneira secured the sword in her belt, laying a hand fondly on the hilt. "It has served me very well."

"Meridia?" Etienne said out loud, his eyes fixed on the white light emanating from the circular handle.

"Yes, the daedric prince. She's really a beautiful example that people and circumstances are not always black and white." Sliding the blade fully into its scabbard, the light winked out, and Etienne and Esbern both blinked rapidly before straightening.

"Daedric interference is no light subject, Dragonborn, but we really-"

"I need to speak with you!" Etienne fairly shouting, cutting off Esbern both orally and physically. He stepped in front of the old Nord, blocking his view of Aneira. She blinked at him, surprise on her face at his abrupt declaration. "Before you leave, I-I have to talk to you. Alone." Etienne stood up straight, feeling a rush of confidence when she did not immediately brush him off.

Esbern sputtered behind him. "Whatever you need to share with the Dragonborn can wait, foolish boy. We are on a mission, written in prophecy for the last-"

"Well, you can wait a few more bloody minutes!" Etienne rounded on him, turning away from Aneira for only a few moments. "Please, Aneira," he pleaded, looking her in the eyes. Her face wasn't obscured by a helmet or darkness as it usually had been during their association. Etienne could see her expressions clearly. At the moment, she looked more shocked than anything. "This can't wait. And I'd," he glanced at Lydia, standing at the foot of the stairs with a frown on her face, "I'd rather it be in private."

Esbern continued to protest behind him, but Etienne paid him no heed. Aneira was not looking at the flustered Nord. She was looking at him, and her face had taken on a look of understanding. Etienne felt his muscles relax.

"Lydia," Aneira said firmly, keeping her eyes fixed on Etienne's, "escort Esbern to the stables. Wait with him there until I come down."

Everyone fell silent, with the exception of Etienne breathing a sigh of relief. Lydia wasted little time moving past Etienne to take the old Nord by the arm.

"Please, come with me, sir."

Etienne didn't hear Esbern move for a few moments, before he finally let out a snort of derision and stomped away. The door gently closed behind him, and Etienne briefly thanked Lydia for her tact.

Aneira shifted her position slightly, setting down her pack and leaning against the stairs. She didn't break eye contact with him, for which he was both grateful and unnerved.

"What is it, Etienne?" Her voice genuinely questioned him, and he swallowed once before starting.

"It's just," Etienne paused, lips tightening as he tried to organize his thoughts. Finally, he sighed deeply before speaking in a rush. "There is a lot I need to say, and not a lot of time to say it. So please," he paused again, taking a deep breath, "let me get all of it out, before you say anything. Just, don't interrupt, no matter what you think, or what I say, until I'm finished. Please."

Aneira stared at him, her expression still confused, but patient.

"Alright, Etienne." She said it softly, and moved past him, taking them both to the chairs by the fire pit. He sat down gracelessly, clenching his hands between his knees. Aneira carefully lowered herself into the other chair, leaning back with her hands in her lap. She didn't say anything, merely waiting for him to begin.

Etienne felt himself at a loss, uncertain where to begin now that the moment had arrived. He'd gone over the things he wanted to say again and again in his head, but now they were a tangled web with no clear starting point. Except, perhaps, the very beginning. That made his stomach churn uneasily.

"When they first took me," he started, turning from her expectant blue eyes to stare at the fire, "they… the real torture didn't start for a while. At first, they just kept me in that cage, keeping me awake and giving me as little food and water as they could without killing me." He saw her shift in the corner of his eye, but refused to look at her. "Everyone knows I was gone for a few weeks. I was in Solitude with you for half a week, and I think they starved me for about half a week. Maybe more. It's…" he took a breath again, turning his face from the flames to the bookshelf to his left. "It was impossible to keep trap of time, down there. You saw how it was. And every time I slept, they woke me again, so I could never know how long I'd been out."

Etienne stopped for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts before he strayed from his original purpose. The confession brought fresh anger and bitterness to the surface, quickening his pulse and tightening his muscles. Revenge, he reminded himself, was not the purpose of this discussion.

Aneira remained blessedly silent during his momentary struggle, and so he pressed on. "When they first started in, I fought back. My head… I was hungry, exhausted, and angry. Angry at how helpless I was. It didn't take long for them to make me see that there was nothing I could do. But even then, it wasn't until they'd had me for a while that I started praying."

Aneira moved again, and he glanced at her legs to avoid seeing her face. She had mimicked his own pose, clasping her hands between open knees and leaning toward him.

"At first, I just cursed them. All of them. The Thalmor, Maven, the Divines. I just hung there feeling sorry for myself and cursing the gods for never caring. But after they just never stopped, once I realized they weren't going to kill me, just keep me lingering like that until they got what they wanted, _that_ was when I started to lose it." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, focusing on the fire once more. "I prayed to every Divine I could think of, begging them to end it, one way or another." Aneira made a soft sound of pity, or perhaps it was sympathy. Etienne swallowed dryly, but pushed on.

"It… I prayed constantly, and after a while, the dreams started." He clenched his joined hands tightly. "I would have this dream about a dragon. It would hover over me, staring at me like it was waiting for something. There were other figures, maybe, I don't know," Etienne let out a huff of frustration, putting his hands against the sides of his head, "there was this presence. Or presences. I can't recall them. I only remember the dragon and the way it looked." Finally, Etienne lowered his hands and looked at her. Those deep blue eyes, so unlike the dragon's eyes, held a wealth of emotion he did not wish to explore at the moment. He could not control himself if faced with her sympathy now. "The dragon's eyes were what stood out to me." He paused again, forcing himself to keep eye contact with her. "They were purple. Violet really." Aneira's eyes widened, her face muscles going slack. "Like the color of a thistle, but shining brightly."

Aneira's mouth opened and closed slightly, staring at him with a look of wonder mixed with lingering disbelief.

"That," Etienne gulped, wishing he had a drink to make this easier, "wasn't the only dream I had. There was another, after you saved me. I was flying on the back of a dragon. The same dragon, with violet eyes."

"How… when?" Aneira finally asked. Etienne thought back, rubbing his neck as he racked his memories.

"I think it was before I woke up in Solitude. Sometime while I was unconscious." Etienne kept his eyes on her face, somewhat gratified that the Dragonborn seemed to understand how important this was. "To be honest I'd almost completely forgotten about it until that dragon attacked us today. But then, when you did that… when you did whatever it was you did after it was dead-"

"Absorbed its soul," Aneira interjected quietly, rising from her chair to pace to the other side of the fire. She brought a hand to her forehead, massaging the skin there. Her eyes screwed shut then opened again quickly. She looked over her shoulder at him. "That's what triggered this memory?"

"Yes," Etienne stated emphatically, rising from his own seat. "Your eyes were the same color as that dragon's. It all came rushing back to me."

"I see," Aneira said softly. She stared at him a few moments longer, her eyebrows furrowing again. Etienne stared back, feeling sweat break out over his brow at the prospect of voicing what else he'd realized. Unfortunately for him, Aneira noticed his heightened discomfort. "There is more you want to say."

Etienne turned from her, choosing to keep his eyes on the weapons rack against the wall.

"It's that ever since then, I've felt very… I don't know how to explain this clearly. You keep me feeling _sane._ Ever since we left Solitude, I've felt like a weakling. But fighting at your side, even though my nerves were frayed," Etienne struggled for a moment, half words escaping before he finally settled on the right ones, "it gave me an outlet. I could take revenge but have you there to keep me in line, to keep me from becoming like that Imperial." Aneira's eyes had drooped in sympathy again, but he didn't reject the look. She was simply a compassionate person. He of all people knew that. "All I know is that I prayed to the gods, sincerely prayed probably the first time in my life, and they answered. They sent you to me. To save me, when I hadn't done anything in my life to deserve their mercy." He stood up straighter, his resolve bolstering his failing confidence. "And I owe them, and you, a debt. One that I haven't even come close to repaying." He turned to face her again, dreading what her reaction would be.

Aneira stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then her eyes widened again and shook her head slightly, bringing her hands to her temples.

"No, no Etienne-"

"I was shown mercy for a _reason_ , Aneira!" Etienne pleaded, moving forward around the other side of the fire. Aneira backed away from him, marching back into the interior of the house. "You saved me for a reason! And I know that I'm meant to stay with you. I'm meant to help you with this quest you're on. _That_ is why I'm still alive."

Aneira stopped at her dining table, bracing her hands on the surface. She shook her head again, looking frustrated. "Etienne, that isn't- You already repaid whatever debt you owed me. I tried to tell you that before." She shoved herself upright, away from the table. Etienne flinched back slightly from the intensity of her gaze, but felt a trickle of relief when she didn't appear angry.

"But I _haven't_ repaid you, Aneira. Believe me, in my line of work debts aren't forgotten, by either party. When you owe someone, truly owe them, it doesn't just leave you." He braced his right hand on the back of his chair. "I know the score, with you and me, Aneira. And no matter what I did in the Ratway, you're still so far ahead of me I don't know if I'll ever catch up." Etienne shook his head slightly, letting out a sigh as she continued to watch him, neither accepting nor denying his words. " _Please_ ," he nearly begged, "please, let me come with you, and I swear I will pay you back. I will make sure you never regret saving me."

Aneira's head shook slightly again, her eyes staring at him with an expression he couldn't easily name. She was biting her lip, and looked almost as if she would cry.

"Regret?" She repeated, turning away from him to put her right hand over her face. She huffed, sliding her palm down her cheek before looking at him for a moment. His chest clenched painfully and fear began to fester inside him when she reached for the steel helmet on the crate. "You think I would regret saving you? Ever?" Aneira clenched the helmet tightly between her hands, screwing her eyes shut again for a moment. Turning to look at him, Etienne squirmed in discomfort at the hollow look she gave him. "That says more about the life you've led so far than anything else you've done."

Etienne stiffened, not out of anger but out of anxiety. He had an awful feeling that the conversation had just completely escaped him.

"Saving you was not a ploy, or some investment in the future. That you even view the world like that gives me cause for regret." She shook her head, staring at the helmet for a few seconds before starting in on the straps.

"That isn't what I meant," Etienne nearly moaned, misery overtaking him. She was going to leave him now. His savior was going to leave, and he was going to have nothing left. Nothing to hold onto.

"Maybe not, but it _is_ how you feel." Aneira kept tugging on the straps of her helmet, and Etienne felt like precious time was slipping through his fingers.

"It isn't just because I'm indebted to you," he beseeched her, all the while trying to keep him desperation at bay. "It's because… because I don't know what to do!" She looked up from her helmet again, her eyebrows sagging with her frown. "I can't- What am I going to do when you're gone? You've been keeping me alive for days now. I don't-" his voice choked off, and he cupped the back of his head tightly in one hand. "I don't know how to keep going anymore. You, your healing, your calm spells, they've-they've kept me in one piece!" Etienne trailed off, shame bubbling inside of him at the declaration. He throat clenched and unclenched when Aneira looked away, biting her lip and staring at the wall. "I know that sounds pathetic," he whispered painfully, "and I know we've only been together a few days. But it's…" he trailed off, groping for the words again.

Aneira said nothing for many moments, simply turning her face away from him. Etienne quickly tried to get his emotions under control, hating himself for his near blubbering. This was not how this conversation was supposed to have gone. He was supposed to convince her that he could be an asset to her, that he would be worth keeping around; not that he still needed her, that he was a pathetic wreck who couldn't bear the thought of being on his own again.

Aneira set the helmet down on the crates, bracing her hands on the wood as she had done earlier at the table. She bent her head for a few moments as if contemplating something deeply. At last, she lifted her face to look at the wall for a few moments before turning to gaze at him again.

"You are not pathetic, Etienne," she said carefully, resting her hand atop the helmet. "You were put through something horrible, and have coped extraordinarily well since the first moment you woke up in Proudspire." Aneira paused, and his stomach dropped painfully at her next words. "But I cannot take you with me. And it is for the reasons you've just given me, not because I think I would regret it." She tucked the helmet under her right arm, moving forward to stand before him, only the chair between them. "You're right. We _have_ only known each other for a few days. And _that_ is why you need to stay behind. Because I have utterly cut you off from the world ever since I found you." Etienne started to protest, but fell quiet when she raised her left hand for him to be silent. "No, it's alright. I didn't _mean_ to, but it's what happened. Jordis kept you safe in Solitude, but you never left the house. I dragged you across the country without any time to breathe, and that's what you need to do now, Etienne." She raised her left hand to his right shoulder, and gripped in tightly. "You need to _breathe._ You need to keep resting, and let yourself heal. Believe me, I," Aneira swallowed thickly, and Etienne felt his shame grow at how tormented she looked. "I know what it is to want someone to stay with you. To want them close at hand. But this," Aneira released his shoulder and made a sweeping gesture between them, "isn't what you need, and staying with me won't give it to you." She backed away from him again, taking the helmet in both hands to place it firmly on her head.

"What will, then?" Etienne muttered, angling his head down so his eyes could stare at the floorboards. He was vaguely aware of her securing the helmet before both her hands gripped his shoulders again. He raised his eyes to her own again slowly.

"I don't know," the Dragonborn said simply, and he might have laughed at the obvious statement if he wasn't so shaken. "I can't tell you what will make you better. All I can say is that in my experience, you find it for yourself." She straightened, but didn't look away from him. He cupped a hand over his eyes, hating the wetness there. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the floor again, feeling a disturbing combination of scared and hollow at the same time. "What I will tell you is that following me around won't be it. Maybe that would work for a while, but I really don't think it would help you in the long run." She bent down to pick up the pack she had set on the floor, and slung her arm through the strap. "So rest here, for as long as you like. Or ask Lydia for some gold so you can sleep in the Inn, if you'd like more company. Go talk to the Companions, go sit with the Gildergreen." She put a gauntleted hand under his chin to force him to look at her again. "Go to one of the temples, and talk to someone there." Aneira said the last suggestion more earnestly, and Etienne pressed his lips together before giving a small noise of acknowledgment.

Aneira moved around him, walking to the other side of the chair and guiding him back into it. Etienne went without a fuss, watching as she crouched in front of him. Her features were shadowed as she faced away from the fire, but he could still make out her blue eyes.

"Now, relax, eat some more breakfast, and drink some more water. Don't push yourself, with anything. Make yourself well again, Etienne. Work every day, as much as you can, to help yourself get better." She cupped his left cheek in her right gauntlet. "Try to live your life more honestly from now on. Do that, and I will never have any regrets when it comes to you."

Aneira straightened, taking her hand away from his cheek and moving away from him. Etienne watched her walk to the door as if in slow motion, and when she finally reached for the handle her name exploded past his lips.

"Aneira!"

She paused, hesitating before turning to look at him again. He swallowed, pushing back the fear that was clawing at him, and said what he'd should have said at the start of all this.

"Thank you," he said, his voice shaking only slightly. "Thank you, for everything you did for me. I will," he took another breath, "never be able to repay you."

His savior smiled at him, a little sadly, he thought, and nodded to him.

"You're welcome, Etienne," Aneira said softly. "Take care of yourself, my friend."

She opened the door and headed out into the morning sunlight, closing the door quietly behind her. Etienne watched the wood for many minutes, sitting by the fire in silence as the weight of his situation started to press in on him more fully.

A gasp escaped his mouth, then another, each growing stronger as he hunched over himself, closing his eyes against the tightness that pressed against his lungs. His hands circled his middle again, and Etienne's fingers brushed his left side where the scars could be felt through the fabric of his tunic.

Bringing his left hand to his face, he clutched his left side and stared at the warm fire through his fingers. He hastily brushed aside any wetness that reached his cheeks, before finally giving up and letting the tears flow down of their own accord.

Lydia returned to the house some time later, bearing a basket full of bread and fresh fruit. He didn't react until she placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, gently guiding him out of the chair and up the stairs. She led him carefully to a bedroom with a large bed covered in furs.

Etienne heard the door close behind him as he collapsed onto it, slowly burying himself in the blankets. Eyes falling shut, he gazed at the sunlight through the cracks in the wooden ceiling for a few moments before letting his body finally have the rest it deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's for reading!! This was a wonderful and difficult story to write, and I hope you all enjoyed it. See the epilogue!


	19. Epilogue

Etienne's eyes were drawn to the large tree in the square above him. It's bleached, lifeless branches stretched toward the sky like a skeleton. Lydia had said it was once a tribute to Kynareth, but now it was nothing but a morbid reminder of the inevitability of death.

Every time he came this far, the tree's overwhelming presence brought him to a halt. It was pathetic, really, but he just couldn't walk by the lifeless husk. Etienne glared at it for a moment, wishing the city would simply burn the thing down and be done with it. What good was a useless tree that rotted away before the eyes of Whiterun's citizens?

Irrationally angry, Etienne turned on his heel to walk back to Breezehome. Standing at the bottom of the stairs in the marketplace was a stupid waste of time, especially when the air was freezing. The sun was covered by a thick layer of clouds, blanketing the sky in a grey sheet. The snow swirled around the stalls, keeping the wood under a layer of frost. Even with his ring and newly enchanted boots, the cold bit into his bones tenaciously. Lugging the venison that Lydia had requested, he hurried to the safety of Breezehome and the warm fire the housecarl had no doubt started.

* * *

The lessons weren't really accomplishing anything. They occupied his mind well enough, he supposed, but it was such a temporary distraction that by the time he walked from Arcadia's back to the house his melancholy had returned. Etienne blamed it on the awful weather that left the town so grey and bleak.

Lydia stored whatever potions or ingredients he brought home, noting his improvements almost like a mother would. He couldn't really think of another way to describe her behavior other than that of a stoic mother. She never questioned the lingering stamina poison he brought to bed every night to help his body fall asleep, or the noise he made when he awoke from a fitful nightmare. She tried not to push him toward any one activity, though she forced him out of his bed or chair to help with the chores every day. Breezehome could not have a speck of dust in it at this point.

She suggested that maybe he should go up to Dragonsreach to study enchanting with Farengar. He nodded, but his right fist clenched around the goblet she'd given him.

He couldn't go to Dragonsreach if he couldn't walk by that damn tree.

* * *

 _This is ridiculous_ , Etienne chastised himself, standing beside the frozen stone archway that led into the Gildergreen's square. The dead tree held up under the snow and ice that clung to its branches, hardly earning a glance from the other people hurriedly walking past. His eyes drifted to the left of the tree, staring momentarily at a large, ornate building. The Temple of Kynareth stood proudly, offering warmth and understanding to any who entered it. He looked away from it quickly when the door opened, revealing a robed priest who strode over to his usual spot at the Shrine of Talos. Turning back to the tree, his mind shamefully acknowledged that it had not truly been what he was avoiding during his days in Whiterun.

Bracing himself, he marched past the looming tribute to the Divine, keeping his eyes fixed on the domineering statue to Talos in the corner of the square. Refusing to turn around, he brought himself to the little shrine behind the old priest. He had never prayed to Talos before, feeling the Nord's warrior god had little time for a thieving Breton like him. But the Thalmor hated Talos, and he hated the Thalmor, so maybe the enemy of his enemy was his friend. He put his hand carefully on the shrine, feeling the subtle warm that filled a person's body whenever they opened themselves to a Divine.

The loud priest noted that he was not a true Nord, but clearly a true son of the Empire and praised his faith for a moment before returning to his speech. Etienne turned and sat on the bench before him, listening to endless speech against the elves and faithless Imperials. He knew this wasn't what Aneira had meant by her parting suggestion, but it was something, wasn't it? The man _was_ a priest, after all.

But after a solid half hour of listening to the man's love of Talos, the dragon's mission to purge corruption from Skyrim, and the Thalmor's hatred for all things man, he felt worse than he had in days.

* * *

"Thank you, Etienne. I'll prepare this for tonight. Any requests?"

"Surprise me," he said quietly, smiling slightly when she nodded dutifully and went to the table. Scrounger or not, Lydia took her duty as his caretaker seriously.

He picked a slice of buttered bread off the table while Lydia heaved the fresh pheasant onto her cutting rack. Taking a large bite, he headed into the side room with his purchases.

"Was there anything special at Arcadia's today?"

"She had quite the supply of nirnroot. Said some farm in the Rift just harvested their crop." Lydia hummed thoughtfully in response, attacking the meat with a knife to remove the fat. "She mentioned something to me about regeneration potions being more effective in the long run than mere replenishers." Etienne worked his jaw slightly, debating whether or not he really wanted to have this conversation. "Guess everyone knows I'm slumming at the Dragonborn's while I 'recuperate.'" He heard Lydia's knife slow slightly, and his lips twisted in frustration that wasn't truly directed at the housecarl. Throwing the frost mirriam and snow berries onto the alchemy table, he began brewing as many resist frost potions as he could. Brewing potions to help against the cold at least brought some coin into the house when he sold them to Arcadia, Belethor, or individual citizens. At least doing that he wasn't completely useless.

* * *

The ornately carved doors were tightly shut, keeping the frigid air out and away from the ill and wounded. His eyes flicked between the handles and the door itself, his fingers twitching as his body warred with his mind. Part of him longed to open those doors and rush inside, but another part told him to go back to Breezehome and lock the door behind him.

The voice of his savior echoed in his head, telling him to go inside and finally start healing himself. His throat clenched, the denial that had so easily become his friend insisting that he was already healing himself without this place. Denial insisted that he was already doing as she asked by earning money honestly, practicing his magic, and never overburdening himself. He helped Lydia with the cooking and cleaning, and he helped the people of Whiterun keep warm in the middle of a particularly horrid winter. Surely that was good enough?

The weight of a stamina poison in his pocket loudly declared that no, it was not enough. Until he took real steps toward making himself wholly well he was not doing as the Dragonborn had asked, even if he had succeeded in starting to build a life for himself.

The doors were pulled apart before he truly realized what he was doing, and Etienne blinked dumbly in the entrance of the temple as the heat and light of their fires and lamps abruptly accosted his body. Indecision reared up again as he was confronted with the sight of the wounded, lying on their sides as the golden robed priests and priestesses hovered over them carefully.

His legs began the process of turning him around when a woman looked at him from across the room.

"Please, hurry in and close the door! We can't have the wounded catching a chill."

Etienne's body remained frozen for another second before his feet obediently entered the temple. He turned around to shut the door, bracing both hands against it when it latched once again. He exhaled shakily, amazed that he'd managed to shut the door with himself on the inside. He turned slowly when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

"Welcome to the Temple of Kynareth." Etienne leaned back against the doors, his fingers threaded together against the small of his back. The aging Nord priestess stared at him expectantly, her arms folded lightly across her chest. "Is there something you need from us?"

Etienne inhaled shakily, his eyes drifting away from the woman to take in the other occupants of the temple. They paid him little attention, continuing with their duties as if there had been no interruption. The Redguard and Nord simply did their jobs.

 _This is why Aneira sent you here,_ Etienne reminded himself. _They heal people every day._

"I was told to come here," Etienne began, lifting his body away from the door. "It's… I need to talk to someone about something." Etienne worked his jaw, feeling his fingers start to clench behind his back. "About something that happened to me."

The priestess gained a look of understanding. She raised her arm to gesture to the side, and he stiffly followed where she led. She left him for a moment at a bench off to the side, promising to return after she was certain the physically wounded would not miss her.

Etienne sat down on the bench, keeping his back stiff and straight while he waited for the priestess to return. His hands grasped each other tightly, whitening his knuckles and reddening his fingers. He took deep breaths, desperately wishing the Dragonborn were there to give him a calming spell.

The priestess sat before him after only a few moments. She smoothed her robes and handed him a goblet of water. Etienne drank it slowly, wishing to prolong the inevitable for as long as possible. Despite his efforts, the moment arrived, and Etienne was left staring at the face of the priestess while she waited for him to begin. He set the cup down at his side, wincing as the base shook against the wooden seat.

"Now, my child, you sought out this place for a reason. Tell me of what ails you."

Etienne swallowed thickly, and she reached out to place her hand over his. The gentle touch of a healing spell enveloped their fingers, and Etienne allowed his back to sag and his head fall forward.

Taking a deep breath, he began to share his burden with the golden robed priestess, and felt a swell of gratitude toward his savior when the burden, though still immense, began to lessen with his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been fun! This story was rattling around in my brain since sometime in 2012 when I kept playing Skyrim and Etienne's story in-game kept disappointing me. There were many versions of this chapter, some discarded entirely while others were not. Apologies to anyone who wanted Aneira and Etienne to develop feelings for each other, or who wanted Aneira to come back for this chapter. In the end, this needed to be more about Etienne and his journey than Aneira's. Aneira's timeline up to Indebted has been almost completely established, so those stories will be popping up soon too! Thank you to everyone who took the time to follow and review this story. Every bit of feedback means a great deal.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally made an AO3 account, so I'm copying my ff.net stories over here, too.


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